Chapter 6
CHAPTER 6
T he telling of it took a long time. Simeon wasn’t even halfway through before they were all ushered inside for lunch. He talked more than he ate and was still going when they retired to the drawing room with cups of tea and, in Mr. Frugis’s case, a cigar. Sometimes Crow chimed in, but he seemed mostly content to remain silent, his expression briefly revealing his emotional reactions to the various events.
For their part, the Frugises made an attentive audience, apparently never bored by the saga. They remained mostly silent until Simeon came to the part where he was stranded on a tiny island in the Pacific and suddenly discovered he could fly.
“You had no notion of your abilities before that?” asked Mr. Frugis, who’d been stroking his moustache the whole time.
“It’s not really the sort of thing a bloke would think of off the top of his head, would he? I’d no idea people could also be birds. But tell me—if I’d been aware of my nature earlier, could I have flown then?” Because it would have served him well, more than once.
It was Mrs. Frugis who answered. “Perhaps. But only once you’d reached late adolescence or adulthood, and the first time is nearly always out of necessity.”
Although Simeon wanted additional details, he decided it was more expedient to finish his story than to argue the point and be delayed further. He told about the eerie confrontation with the demons in Chinkapin Grove and was relieved that his hosts appeared pleased with the outcome of that battle. Concluding with a brief account of their more recent time with the carnival, he didn’t mention the dropped box.
He was tired when he finally ran out of words. Yes, he was accustomed to chatting people up and sometimes spinning tales to his advantage, but he didn’t usually talk so long. Also, he’d drunk what felt like several gallons of tea. “I, erm, excuse me. I’ve got to see a man about a dog.” He made what he hoped was a dignified rush to the stairs.
When he returned from the WC, considerably more comfortable, Crow and the Frugises were staring silently at each other. Crow looked vaguely hostile, his arms crossed and brow drawn, but the Frugises simply looked curious.
“The three of you look like a very strange painting.” Simeon retook his chair. “Look. I’m trying to be patient, I am, but?—”
“It’s not unheard of,” interrupted Mrs. Frugis. “An alliance such as yours.”
Simeon snorted. “Unheard of? Missus, I can assure you that there are molly-houses, pubs, and back alleys all over London where blokes ally with one another. I reckon it goes on even in Mayfair.”
“That is not what I meant. I was referring to partnerships between the two-natured and his kind.” She pointed at Crow .
“The two-natured?”
Mrs. Frugis sighed and leaned back in her seat before turning to her husband. “Edwin, this is your area of expertise. Explain to the boy who we are.”
“Of course, Lydia.” Mr. Frugis looked pleased with the task. He lit another cigar and beamed. “I am a senior lecturer of history, you know. That is why my mate and I live here in the city. Generally we much prefer the countryside, but I am employed here and, well, the flock also benefits by having representatives in situ.”
“Then educate us, if you please,” said Simeon as patiently as he could manage.
“Of course, of course. But where to begin….”
Simeon quoted from Alice . “‘Begin at the beginning,’ the King said, very gravely, ‘and go on till you come to the end: then stop.’”
Mr. Frugis stared at the ceiling as if it might provide answers. Then he cleared his throat, took a puff from his cigar, and gave a slight nod. “Very well. It was long ago, before great cities existed. There were humans even then, naturally, but they lived in small… well, you could hardly even call them villages. They were fearful of everything and usually remained close to their huts. And then—” He stopped and scratched his ear. “What do you know of British history?”
“Nothing,” Simeon answered a bit defensively. “Haven’t had much schooling, have I?” He’d been taught his letters and numbers and that was about it. The people who ran the foundling home assumed that their charges wouldn’t need much more than that. The girls would grow up to be maids—if they were lucky—and the boys would become laborers or soldiers.
Now Mr. Frugis gave Crow a questioning look, and Crow shrugged. “I’m American. About all I know is some of you guys sailed over and colonized, there was a tea party and Yankee Doodle and a revolution, and I guess there were some kings and queens.”
Although Crow looked entirely satisfied with his summary, Mr. Frugis did not. “History is important! Without a proper grasp of the past, how can we understand the present or the future? Every moment is connected to thousands of others that came before or are yet to come, and?—”
“Edwin.”
At his wife’s admonition, Mr. Frugis deflated a bit. “Yes, of course. I am sorry.”
“You’re passionate about it, my dear. It is understandable.”
They exchanged fond glances and Simeon remembered that rooks mated for life. But that wasn’t his focus right now. “All right, so there were humans mucking about in huts and the like, and…?”
“And there were others as well,” answered Mr. Frugis. “Such as your mate’s people, who were few and scattered and kept to themselves but were nonetheless important. And there were also the two-natured.”
Simeon was going to ask for more, but Crow beat him to it. “Do you mean people who can turn into rooks?”
Mr. Frugis tsked like a disappointed teacher. “It is not like that—we do not turn into anything. We are always a rook and always a person. Two-natured. We simply change which aspect of ourselves we wish to manifest at any particular time.”
“I don’t see the difference.”
Simeon did, although he didn’t know how to put it into words that Crow would understand. In his current form, he felt fully himself. But when he changed into bird form, he also felt fully himself, and although his size and shape were entirely different, he remained the same. It was a little like putting on clothing: no matter what he wore, he was still Simeon Bell.
“Are all two-natureds rooks?” asked Simeon.
Now Mr. Frugis seemed pleased. “Excellent question, and no. Some have other bird forms. Some are entirely different. Their second nature is a cat, perhaps, or a bear. In ancient times the two-natured, like humans, were small in number, but there were more than at present. Everyone kept to their own most of the time, but occasionally some of the two-natureds would unite in friendship or collide in enmity. And I daresay that there were encounters with humans now and then as well. We feature quite prominently in their folktales and mythology.”
“Werewolves!” Crow said suddenly.
“Yes,” said Mr. Frugis with a chuckle. “Quite. Most of those tales are stuff and nonsense, but the germ of truth is there. In so many other places as well, where there are talking animals. Aesop. The Panchatantra. European fairy tales. The stories told by the Indians in America. By George, even the serpent in Genesis!”
Simeon blinked. “There are snake people?” He was very grateful he wasn’t one of those.
“Not now, but perhaps there were in the past. The problem, you see, is that there were no written texts until relatively recently, and as a result, much of what survives is rumor and conjecture. We’ve no notion, for instance, from whence any of us originated. Some of my colleagues believe that very long ago, some of the two-natured lost a part of themselves, or perhaps the parts were severed somehow—the theories are a bone of contention, I’m afraid—and that is how ordinary humans came to be. But this is merely supposition.”
Mr. Frugis’s cigar had gone out during his lecture, and as he relit it, Simeon took a few moments to absorb this new information. “Mr. Kipling’s book,” he said, remembering. “And Alice as well. They both have talking animals.”
“There’s a talking lion in The Wizard of Oz ,” Crow added. “And flying monkeys, although I don’t know if they count.”
Mr. Frugis nodded. “It’s as I said. Humans seem to be very keen on these stories. Perhaps even if they are not consciously aware of the existence of the two-natured, they inherit some memory of us. It’s a pity Mr. Darwin has passed away and cannot comment on this.”
Simeon was beginning to be overwhelmed with all of this discussion, little of which pertained to him specifically. Yet he still had questions. “Why don’t they know about us? I can understand why nobody knows much about Crow’s angels—they’re a secretive lot. But you’re living among four million humans. Surely someone must have noticed we exist.”
“We are circumspect about our nature,” said Mrs. Frugis sharply. It was the first she had spoken in some time. “And today very few of us remain.”
That rather ominous statement sent a shiver down Simeon’s spine. “Why?”
“Humans.”
When she didn’t seem inclined to expand on that, her husband stepped in. “They began multiplying. Building cities, which do not suit most of us. Laying claim to lands and waging wars to press those claims. Few of us are inclined for warfare. It simply became more difficult for us to exist. Many of the two-natured chose to relinquish one of their forms.”
“You can do that?” Crow sounded a bit envious. He would likely have jumped at the chance to be merely human, had that opportunity presented itself.
Mr. Frugis nodded. “But as it is permanent, it is a critical decision. Any children born after relinquishment will also be one-natured. In general, our unions sometimes produce unusual results.” He paused and then looked at Simeon.
And, perversely, when Simeon realized that the conversation was about to turn to his personal history, he couldn’t bear to hear it. Why had he ever wanted to know in the first place? It certainly wasn’t going to be a nice story. Nice stories didn’t end with a baby abandoned at a foundling home.
“Need some air,” he muttered as he shot to his feet. He rushed past Crow—banging a leg on a chair as he went—and sped down the hall to the kitchen, where he escaped to the gardens. Of course the high walls penned him in, but he didn’t truly mean to escape; he simply needed some open space around him.
Perhaps Crow understood this. When he arrived in the garden a few moments later, he didn’t approach Simeon but instead remained standing near the table where they’d sat earlier. He didn’t say a word, as if watching his lover pace around rose bushes like a lunatic was an everyday thing.
And even in silence, even across several yards of grass and paving stones, Crow’s presence eventually calmed Simeon enough that he could take a few deep breaths. He walked over to him and set a hand on his shoulder, which soothed him even more. “Sorry. For being a fool.”
“You’re not a fool. It’s really hard to learn stuff about yourself.”
“But when you learned?—”
“When I learned about my mother, I puked all over my own shoes.”
Oh. Simeon had forgotten that bit. “I’m relieved I didn’t spew all over the Frugises’ posh rugs. Although I expect I’ve still the opportunity to do that.”
“We could ask one of the maids for a bucket.” Crow quirked his mouth into one of his rare smiles.
Simeon grinned back before walking a few steps away and tilting his head up to the sky. It was bluer than he recalled it ever being in London, and songbirds twittered from the nearby trees. “I think I’d fly away now, if you could do it too.”
“Do it.”
“What?” Confused, Simeon looked at Crow.
“Fly. I’ll wait here for you. Maybe it’ll help clear your head.”
Aside from the one very long journey from the Pacific Ocean to Chinkapin Grove, Illinois, Simeon had used his wings only rarely and for short periods of time. He hadn’t needed them in the carnival and hadn’t felt the urge to take to the skies. And that was stupid. Most people could only dream of flight, and he could do it at will but hadn’t.
Not caring whether anyone was watching, he started stripping off his clothes and let them fall to the ground. “Won’t be long.”
“I’ll wait.”
As soon as he was naked, Simeon was a rook.
When he’d been a boy of perhaps eleven or twelve, he’d fallen while attempting to climb into an open upper-floor window. Fortunately there was a dirt yard below rather than pavement, but he’d landed hard, jarring his left shoulder out of joint. It had hurt like the blazes and, worse, left him unsuited for most thieving. Out of desperation he’d begged a larger, older boy of his acquaintance to pop the shoulder back into place.
Changing from man to rook was like that: a brief time of searing pain followed immediately by a sense of relief and rightness. Simeon flapped his wings a few times, paused to preen a few of his glossy feathers, and then took off. The first several feet of his ascent were a bit awkward, but he soon caught the air under his wings and rose rapidly, croaking his delight .
He swooped back down to circle around Crow a few times, almost brushing Crow’s face with his wingtips and making Crow duck and laugh. Then Simeon was off again, up above the rooftops and the trees, soaring above the chimneys of Mayfair. Higher and higher, until the air felt thin and cold and the Thames snaked far below like a shiny ribbon.
London held four million people, but from this height they and their activities seemed insignificant. He could barely make out the ships on the river. No sounds or scents of the city reached him.
Simeon banked and circled, feeling the glorious rush of wind against him and marveling at his own power. How even the slightest change in his posture, the shifting of a few feathers, led to a different speed, a different direction. He opened his beak wide to drink in the air.
When he saw two dark shapes heading toward him, he almost panicked and flew away. But he held his ground—well, held his air—and soon realized that the shapes were rooks. When they came closer, he knew they were the Frugises, although he couldn’t have said how he knew since they looked like nothing except birds.
They apparently hadn’t come to lure him back. They flanked him at first but shortly engaged in aerial acrobatics: loops, arcs, swift sharp plummets, and steep ascents. Simeon, who’d never flown with other rooks and never with other two-natureds, joined them, and the trio began a wild dance of sorts, high over London. It was thrilling and exhilarating. If Simeon could have laughed, he would have. He forgot all of his worries in the sheer delight of flying.
For a while.
But eventually he began to tire, and he remembered Crow waiting patiently for him in the garden. After one final figure eight, he headed back to Mayfair, the Frugises following just behind .
The three of them landed on the grass, although Simeon detoured briefly to dive at the top of Crow’s head. Then, with a twist of will and a howl of pain and triumph, Simeon was again a naked man. The Frugises were equally unclothed and quite beautiful. Neither seemed bothered by their nudity, despite the presence of the two young men.
“We haven’t done that for a long while,” said Mr. Frugis—or more correctly, Edwin, now that they’d flown and been naked together. He was smiling widely, his dark hair mussed.
Lydia frowned. “It’s unwise to partake often in the city. You know that.”
“I do. But it’s fun .”
She turned to Simeon. “Are you ready now for the rest?”
He had to think about this. Crow had been right: flight had cleared his head a bit. At any rate, the original swirling mix of emotions had now settled into a simmer. “Yes. I’d like to know about my family, please.”
“We are your family. Your flock. You are a Frugis as well. But if you mean your parents, they’re long dead.”
That wasn’t a shock. He’d long ago assumed as much, because otherwise why weren’t his father and mother there when the Frugises had collected him as a boy? He winced anyway. “Oh.”
For the first time he could remember, Lydia’s expression softened a bit and sympathy warmed her dark eyes. “Edwin is your… cousin, I suppose. We use different terms than do humans, but that one does nicely enough. I am also your cousin, although a more direct one. You have a great many more cousins as well. In the countryside, not here. And Simeon?”
“Yes?”
“We believe you may have a brother.”