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Small piles of soil, poorly dug holes, and a lone stick were all the remained of the girl.

Hugh inspected her handywork and noticed that he could see only holes. There were no dirt mounds that one would expect to see after planting seeds. On two occasions he had witnessed her hard at work in the flowerbed and even though she had been using first her fingernails and then a stick, she should have made some sort of progress on planting seeds. All that she had accomplished was the unearthing and tossing of soil.

Hugh shifted the spade from one hand to another.

Even if planting seeds had been just an excuse for her to sit and dig aimlessly, Hugh wished that he had returned and given her the spade.

He spun the spade on its handle, the polished wood gliding without a scratch against his skin.

Hugh had a feeling that the spade would have made her digging a little bit more enjoyable.

Hugh rang his fingers along the edges and thought of how his grandmother must have held it and how the black-haired girl would have held it.

Then Hugh stepped over the brick ring around the flowerbed and sat down in the soil, not caring if his clothes were dirtied. He crossed his legs and got comfortable despite the soil making its way into his shoes and down his trousers legs.

Hugh lifted the spade and dug his own holes.

He became the spade knight whose mission was to slay the soil dragon.

Hole after hole Hugh dug. Pile after pile he stacked. He pierced the soil dragon and laid it to the side piece by piece.

He became entranced by the monotonous mechanical process of piercing, scooping, and chucking the soil dragon. The dragon was too slow to dodge Hugh's well-placed thrusts and its scales too weak to deflect his precise blows. Hugh was the spade knight, and no dragon stood a chance against him.

Hugh placed the spade in his lap and brushed away his moistened brow with a soil covered hand. He shielded his eyes and looked towards the sun that was skirting the horizon. It was shining the strongest it had all day.

Hugh stood up, gave his clothes a light brush, and looked over the black-haired girls fruitless handywork.

For a second, he doubted that she had been joking about hunting the mole people.

The train doors slid open. Hugh merged into the wave of people exiting onto the platform and rode the wave of humanity to his destination.

He could feel the spade bouncing along in his bag next to work related files and documents. He had been carrying the spade each day just in case he would bump into the black-haired girl or spotted her in the flowerbed. He didn't want to rush back to his flat to find the spade, only to have her disappear once more.

As it stood, he hadn't seen her for some days. Every time he had gone out to work and returned to the fortress, he would look to the flowerbed and benches but found the former untouched and the latter littered with people sitting, chatting, eating, and drinking.

The black-haired girl was never among them, sitting with her parents and having a bite to eat, but Hugh found it fascinating that there were always different people relaxing on those benches. It was as if his courtyard were a rest stop in between the comings and goings of adventurers, vagabonds, and eternal wanderers.

Hugh considered the possibility that the black-haired girl was one of those vagabonds that he would never see again. Perhaps, Hugh reflected, he would be forever hauling around his grandmother's spade.

Hugh followed the crowd like how a molecule of water follows a running river, and flowed with them onto the escalator.

Riding the escalator to the surface of the metro, Hugh questioned why he was applying so much effort to give the black-haired girl the spade. He couldn't find a definite answer, but he attributed the reason to Masha's impact on him. He saw the girl not as a way to connect to other people, but as a way to let go of his own lonely childhood. To some degree, seeing the black-haired girl sitting in the flowerbed without her parents around to take part in her activities reminded Hugh of the loneliness that he had faced at her age.

The girl indeed appeared to be in high spirits. Hugh doubted that she had suffered the same fate as he had as a child where one parent passed away and another then became shackled to work. Regardless, he felt that giving her the spade was a gesture that he himself would have appreciated receiving when he had been a child.

The escalator reached its apex and Hugh stepped off with added acceleration from the escalator's forward movement. He sidestepped around the person in front of him to avoid collision and then struck a path through the slow-moving crowd to the exit, feeling as a lightning bolt through a dense and gelatinous fog.

Hugh burst through the heavy double exit doors and flew down the five or so steps leading down to the sidewalk. He weaved through the crowd of human molasses, careful to avoid clipping the shoulders of those less eager to put distance between themselves and their metro ride.

Coming off the final step, Hugh slammed face first into a man who had seemingly appeared out of nowhere.

The immovable object that halted Hugh's unstoppable forced did not seem perturbed or angered by their chance physical meeting. He gave Hugh a sly smile, as if signaling to Hugh that they shared had shared in some inside joke. What baffled Hugh was that the man hadn't been leaving the metro with the rest of the metro goers, he had been standing and facing the oncoming wave of humanity.

Standing there, trying to understand the forward-facing man's smile, Hugh noticed that crowd started to fork around and avoid them. Hugh and this immovable man were just two people standing there but those exiting the metro treated them as a bulky obstacle. Hugh could have extended his arms at full with, from side to side, and his fingertips wouldn't have brushed the rushing crowd.

“Pardon me sir,” Hugh said to the forward-facing man, “but you are standing in the area where people exit. The entrance is through the other —"

“I’m disappointed that you don’t remember me Mr. Mechta.” The forward-facing man interrupted with his smile still plastered on his face. He deliberately and meticulously adjusted his coke bottle glasses.

“Timmy?” Hugh’s question was incredulous. The person Hugh had met at Office M was a cowering and frail man hunched behind a desk, whereas this man stood with perfect posture seemingly supported by a steel spine, broad shoulders, and a smile that exuded not just confidence, but power.