The Chronicles of Ether Drive 1

The House of Winds

If you listen closely, beyond the drowsy hum of the motorway that flows like an unseen river at the edge of the neighborhood, you will hear the silence of Littlepace. It is a gentle silence, smelling of mown grass and afternoon rain. But if you turn past the earth-toned houses and walk parallel to Hunters Run, you will reach a street where shadows seem to have a life of their own.

Welcome to Ether Drive.

At number 49, in a sturdy brown-brick house, lives a man who spends more time in his books than in his own living room. His name is Anemo Gale. Anemo is a crime novelist, but he is so absent-minded that he sometimes searches for his glasses while they are perched right on his nose.

“Where has the plot vanished to?” he often sighs, staring longingly into the fridge which he has, of course, left wide open. What Anemo doesn’t know is that the “plot” of his stories isn't lost. It wanders right under his nose, on four velvet paws or on a tiny belly, through the dust beneath the bookshelves.

In this house, the wind doesn’t just knock at the window; it has a name and a personality. There is Mistral, the sleek black cat who fancies himself a prince lost from the boulevards of Paris. There is Sirocco, the ginger kitten who landed in this world like a small sandstorm, not yet knowing what “yesterday” means or why humans use forks instead of claws.

And, above all, there is Aeolus.

This Aeolus is not the god of winds, though his name might suggest so. He is a bookmouse, a tiny scholar who proudly wears Anemo’s “lost” glasses—or rather, he makes use of the multitude of spectacles our writer has scattered throughout the house (to an outsider, it might look like a nursery or a breeding ground for eyeglasses). He is the one who keeps watch between the rows of encyclopedias, ready to explain to every breadcrumb why the world is so complicated.

On Ether Drive, hunting is a discreet art. Here, the hunter and the prey never meet to quarrel, but to solve mysteries. For, you see, in thebrown-brick house, the greatest adventures begin when Anemo Gale puts salt instead of sugar in his morning coffee.

“Sirocco, pay attention!” Aeolus whispers from behind a thick volume of history. “The story begins. This is a historical moment!”

Sirocco stops chasing a piece of lint, ears pricked:

“His—what? Is it something that wants to play with me?”

Aeolus adjusts the lens he has strategically positioned himself behind and smiles:

“Historical, little one, means something that is about to happen right now, in this very instant. Something that will remain the birth certificate of a book. The first page of a story that is being written as we speak.”

The morning silence on Ether Drive was interrupted only by the rhythmic purr of the motorway on the horizon and the metallic clink of a teaspoon hitting a porcelain mug. Anemo Gale stood in his kitchen, which smelled of old paper, staring fixedly into the cutlery cupboard.

“It is an inexplicable disappearance!” he exclaimed, dropping a box of tea.

Sirocco, a ginger ball of energy, rolled out from under the table, believing that a “dis-ap-pear-ance” was a new type of ball.

“Where is it? I’ll catch it!” he meowed, pouncing on a tassel of the rug.

Above, on the refrigerator, Mistral cleaned a paw with the slow, deliberate poise of a Parisian lady of fashion.

Aeolus, watching everything through his magic lens from the shelter of a napkin holder, felt he had to intervene. Sirocco looked at him with wide, amber eyes, waiting for the translation.

— Sirocco, pay attention, whispered the mouse. Anemo said it is a disappearance. That means something that was here is now gone. Like when you think there’s one last kibble in your bowl, but you’ve already eaten it.

Sirocco flicked his tail sadly:
— Oh... disappearance is bad. I want the spoon back now!

— And Mistral said Anemo is dramatic, Aeolus continued, ignoring the black cat’s huff. Dramatic means someone makes a big scene out of a small thing. Like when Mistral pretends to faint because he found a speck of dust on his silk pillow.

Anemo Gale did not hear them. He was already searching under the fridge, leaving its door wide open.
— If I don’t find the stirring spoon, I can’t finish the chapter on ‘The Shadow Thief’! Without it, I have no inspiration!

Sirocco froze.
— Aeolus... what is in-spi-ra-tion? Is it something you steal? Who is the Shadow Thief? Is he here?
— Shhh, the mouse hushed him, inspiration means having ideas that help you create. Let us not disturb the creator!

Anemo Gale was crawling on his belly through the kitchen, one knee on the cold tiles and a small flashlight in his hand.
— It can’t be! he cried, as the beam of light danced on the brick walls. Aunt Agatha’s wooden spoon has vanished without a trace! It is a mysterious misappropriation!Sirocco was two inches from Anemo’s nose, trying to hunt the flashlight’s beam.

— Miss-app-pro-what? he meowed, jumping over the writer’s fingers. Is it something that runs fast? Is it a red mouse?

Aeolus, perched on the edge of the biscuit tin, adjusted his glasses with a tiny paw. He felt it was time to enlighten the little kitten.

— No, Sirocco. A misappropriation means someone has taken something that doesn't belong to them, stealthily. Like when you ‘misappropriated’ Anemo’s left shoe and took it to the laundry basket.

Mistral, sitting on the granite countertop like a black porcelain sphinx, yawned boredly, showing his perfect white fangs.

— Oh, please Anemo, is your silver spoon made of wood after all? This search is utterly inefficient. You are crawling like a snail without a compass.

Sirocco stopped hunting the light and looked at Aeolus, eyes round:

— In-e-fi-cient? Is it a disease? Will my whiskers fall out?

Aeolus sighed, amused by the kitten's fear:

— No, little one. Inefficient means someone works very hard but gets no results. Like when you try to catch your own tail for an hour, but it always spins away with you.

— Then... Sirocco said, putting his nose to the ground, I must be efficient! I must find this spoon... yesterday?

The ginger kitten stuck his head under the open fridge, where the noise of the motorway outside sounded like the growl of a dragon. There, in the dark, he saw something long and brownish.

— I found it! I found the miss-ap-pro-thingy!

But when he pulled at the mysterious object with his claws, it wasn't the spoon that came to light, but an old blue pencil, chewed at the end. Anemo Gale let out a desperate sigh.

— That’s the pencil I used to write ‘The Mystery of Littlepace’! But the spoon... where is the spoon?

Mistral moved a single whisker, gazing toward the window that looked out onto a Japanese flowering crabapple tree that had just bloomed.

— Perhaps our ‘hunter’ has forgotten he used the spoon as a sword last night, while mimicking the duel in Chapter 4, he meowed knowingly.

The air on Ether Drive was heavy with mystery. Mistral had grown tired of seeing Anemo Gale on all fours. With the movement of an opera ballerina, the black cat stretched out an impeccable paw and nudged a thick book off the edge of the shelf.

Thump! The book fell right next to Sirocco’s nose.
— Oops! Mistral meowed, pretending it was an accident. What an unfortunate incident!

Sirocco jumped, his ginger fur bristling:
— In-ci-dent? Is it a monster falling from above?

Aeolus scrambled down a thread:
— Calm down, Sirocco! An incident is just an unexpected event, usually something small that spoils one's plans. It’s not a monster; it’s just Mistral trying to be useful without admitting it.

Sirocco looked at the fallen book. From between its pages, something long and polished wood peeked out.
— Aeolus! Look! The monster’s tail!
— It’s not a tail, little one, Aeolus said, smiling. It is the very ‘murder weapon.’ Anemo used the wooden spoon as a bookmark.

Anemo Gale heard the thud and approached, wiping the dust from his knees.
— Incredible! he exclaimed, picking up the spoon. It was right here, in the ‘Detective’s Guide’! What a bizarre coincidence

Sirocco blinked rapidly, looking from the spoon to Aeolus.

— Co-in-ci-dence? Is that the incident’s sister?

Aeolus adjusted his glasses:

— Almost, Sirocco. A coincidence is when two things happen at the same time without being planned. Anemo thinks the spoon got there by magic, but we know he put it there last night while thinking about the thief in the story and forgot that a spoon is not a pencil.

Mistral huffed, looking out the window at the Japanese flowering crabapple tree.

— Banal, he meowed. Now that we’ve resolved this kitchen crisis, can we focus on something truly sophisticated? Such as... my dinner?

Aeolus felt he had to intervene:

— A crisis, little one, is a very difficult moment or a great muddle. And sophisticated means something choice, exquisite—just like Mistral thinks his food is.