The Pocket King Hates Heavy Pockets

 

The Pocket King Hates Heavy Pockets

Abridged from handmaids tales for tricky children

— by Nanny McPhilly

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Yarrox is a desert walker with skin like sun-baked potatoes and streets that taste of salt. On its back lived two rich boys, Pip and Lio, who wore shiny coats with left pockets stuffed silly. Buttons. Sweets. Brass chips. Even a polished nail that did nothing but look important.
Down the spine lived folks who needed things. A cracked water jar. A frayed rope. A spool of thread for split shoes. Pip and Lio saw them every day and looked away.
  “Not ours,” said Pip, patting his left pocket.
“Not today,” said Lio, patting his left pocket.

That night the wind went thin and sneaky. A small man in a cap with a sliver of moon stitched in the brim walked the rail. Cats saw him first. He moved like a question. He smelled like old salt and cold iron. People call him the Pocket King.   He tapped the rail with one finger. The tap sounded like a coin on an empty plate.
“Left for the giving, right for the keep,” he whispered. “Heavy pockets make slow hearts.”
  Pip and Lio laughed, but only a little. The small man smiled without teeth. The stitched moon winked.

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  Pip and Lio did not learn.
  They grew up. They grew wider in the chair and tighter in the smile. Their coats got fancier. Their wages got meaner. Honest workers mended ropes till their hands ached while the boys counted brass with soft fingers.   Each season the Pocket King came walking the rail in his moon hat. He spoke once, very gentle.   “Left for the giving. Right for the keep. Heavy pockets make slow hearts.”   Pip laughed. Lio locked the safe.   One morning the safe yawned open like a toothless mouth. The brass was gone. The ledger sliver that hid the unfair numbers was gone. On the front desk the unpaid receptionist rubbed sleep from her eyes and said a small thief in a moon hat had tipped his cap at the hinge and vanished.   Inside the safe sat a folded note.  

Heavy pockets make slow hearts ;)

— Your friend, the Pocket King

  The boys checked their left pockets. Light as air. Empty as a promise not kept.   They stayed that way.