Chapter 15
CHAPTER 15
T hey had to take their dinner in the restaurant, which, as Crow pointed out, was not the worst fate in the world. Since their newer clothes were still damp, they wore the clothes they’d brought from the carnival, which got them some stares. But Simeon charmed the waitstaff into believing they had the honor of serving a genuine American cowboy. Which wasn’t exactly true, but Crow was an American farmer, which was very nearly the same thing, and Simeon reckoned that there had been both cows and horses somewhere in Chinkapin Grove, even if not on the Storey farm. Anyway, the tale was enough to get them served their dinner with courtesy despite their odd attire, and that was all Simeon cared about right now.
He ate a lot of food; Crow mostly watched him silently, his expression suggesting he very much wanted to either fight or fuck Simeon again. Possibly both. Also, Crow drank most of a bottle of wine, followed by an impressive amount of brandy. The waiters gave the impression that such behavior was expected of a cowboy.
By the time they returned to their room, both men were nearly staggering—Crow from drink and Simeon from exhaustion. Fine pair they were tonight.
“I’m going to take a bath,” Simeon announced.
“I… am going to sleep.”
“You haven’t asked what happened during my flight this afternoon.”
Crow emitted a long sigh. “I’m not sure I wanna know. I’m sure it was something dangerous and I know I can’t do a fucking thing about it, so I’m going to sleep.”
Simeon was going to point out—not for the first time—that Crow couldn’t control everything. But he really didn’t want another row right now, so he nodded, grabbed one of the hotel dressing gowns, and headed for the bathroom.
Although they had their own WC, the shared bathing room was down the hall and, fortunately, currently free. The room was fitted with very modern equipment, including a gas water heater, and soon Simeon was blissfully submerged in steaming water. Plumbing was one thing he envied the people from Crow’s time; almost all Americans had indoor toilets, drinkable water, and the ability to take a hot shower or bath whenever they wished. During most of Simeon’s life, he’d only had access to poor sanitation facilities or none at all. The best he’d been able to do was visit the public bathhouse on Goulston Street when he had a spare shilling or two.
But now he had the luxury of a deep, hot soak, and since he didn’t know when he’d get that benefit again, he took the time to enjoy it. Only when the water had cooled and he’d nearly fallen asleep and drowned did he emerge and return to their room, where he found Crow fast asleep.
Simeon joined him, taking a moment to appreciate the bed as well as the comforting presence of the man he loved. He was still thinking about those things as he fell asleep.
Only to be pulled into another of Crow’s dreams .
“Bloody hell,” Simeon groused. “Can’t you let either of us get some decent rest?”
The dream took place deep in a slum. It wasn’t quite Whitechapel, Bethnal Green, Soho, or any of the places they’d visited in person, but rather an amalgam tempered by Crow’s personal impressions. Tottering buildings that defied the laws of gravity. Children so caked in filth that their faces could barely be seen. Ragged adults with too-big eyes, some of them swaying violently from gin. Dead horses and running streams of sewage in the streets. A general miasma of rot and disease.
“It’s not this bad,” Simeon insisted. “It was my home, you know.” He felt slightly offended.
Crow was dressed as a cowboy, complete with ten-gallon hat and spurred boots. “Well, let’s just be glad Jack the Ripper hasn’t showed up.”
Simeon remembered that Crow had mentioned him before. “Who?”
“Never mind. And, uh, sorry.”
When Crow gestured at him, Simeon looked down at himself and saw he was naked. He sighed. “I don’t even get a Stetson?”
“I guess my subconscious likes you like that. So does my conscious. I don’t need Freud to figure that much out.”
“Fine, but what?—”
The doors to a nearby building opened and children began pouring out, a veritable flood of them. Even though they were relatively clean when they emerged, as soon as they reached the street they were covered in muck, and then they devolved into rats that scurried fearfully away.
“Really? ” Simeon demanded.
“I…. Sorry. I don’t think that the kids are vermin. I don’t know….” Crow let his voice trail away.
They both stood there for a bit, simply watching .
Then Crow turned to Simeon as if about to say something, but instead gasped and staggered toward him. “Simeon!”
“What?” Simeon was slightly irritated. Until he looked down and saw that the edges of his body were… ragged. Worn away, like the edges of old newspapers. And even as he watched, he eroded a bit more.
“What’s wrong with you?” Crow grabbed Simeon’s arm, but the contact hurt and Simeon jerked away. “Simeon?” Crow looked on the verge of panic.
Simeon wasn’t feeling especially calm himself. “Wake up! Wake up now, love!”
“I can’t…. I don’t know….”
“You can! It’s your bloody dream, innit? Wake up!” The last part was nearly a scream as he felt his bones start to weaken.
There was a tremendous jerk, and he was back in bed in the Langham Hotel. Intact. His heart hammering, extremities icy cold. Crow was inches away, eyes wide with shock.
“I didn’t do that to you.” Crow shook his head as he spoke, standing beside the bed with his arms wrapped around himself. “I guess it was my fault you were in my dream again, but that… that dissolving…. That wasn’t me.”
Simeon, sitting propped against the pillow, believed him. Whatever had just happened to him had felt far too real. Even now he had to keep stroking his arms to reassure himself that he was whole.
“Then what was it?” Simeon asked with feigned calmness.
Crow answered with a wail. “ I don’t know!”
“Perhaps… perhaps it had something to do with all the drink you had tonight.”
“I’ve been wasted before and that hasn’t happened to you.”
True enough. And besides, they’d already agreed that this wasn’t Crow’s doing. “Perhaps I did it to myself?”
Crow jutted out his chin. “Do you believe that?”
“No,” Simeon admitted. “Perhaps… it’s symbolic, yeah? That’s what your Dr. Freud would say.” They’d chatted a bit about his theories, most of which Simeon thought were ridiculous, but he’d rather rely on a barmy explanation than a terrifying one.
“I don’t think Sigmund has anything to do with this.”
After several long moments, Crow returned to sit on the bed. His expression remained grim, but when he spoke, his voice was gentle. “Sim? Something’s… happening to you. You said it already—you don’t feel quite like yourself.”
“Then who am I?” Simeon whispered. His throat hurt.
“You’re still mine, okay? Always. We’ve settled that. So we just need to get to the bottom of this.”
Crow lay down beside him and they snuggled up together; it didn’t solve any problems, but it felt nice. Simeon liked the physical assurance that he wasn’t alone. Oh, but that reminded him of what had happened that afternoon.
“Today, when I returned from my flight knackered? It’s because I chased another rook. Halfway to the Atlantic, it seemed like.”
“Another rook?” Crow had stiffened slightly and was clearly choosing his words carefully. “An ordinary one or one like you?”
“Like me, I reckon. And they wanted me to follow.”
While Simeon described the encounter, Crow listened silently, never quite relaxing his tense body but continuing to gently stroke Simeon’s shoulder.
“So what do you think?” asked Simeon when he was done .
“That I’m really glad you didn’t crash-land in the middle of the wilderness.”
Simeon couldn’t help a chuckle. “It’s England, love. Not much wilderness to be found. But who do you think that bird was, and what did they want?”
“Your brother? When he saw you today—which wasn’t really today but was actually a couple of decades ago and God I hate time travel shit—maybe he recognized you. And now he knows you’re alive and you’re here and he could somehow find you and he wants…. Jesus, Simeon, I don’t know. I mean, I’m sure everything’s all connected in some way, but hell if I know how.”
Simeon considered possible courses of action. He could do nothing—leave London and take up farming—but that wasn’t really an option. He had to solve this puzzle, as surely as he had to breathe. He could wander around the city, hoping to magically find Bran. He could fly around and see whether the mystery rook reappeared.
“We could go back to the Frugises. See if they have explanations.” But as soon as he said it, he rejected the idea. “Never mind. Not sure I trust them.”
“Agreed. And Simeon? I’m sorry I was an asshole earlier. I spent a decade running away from my drama, and I refused to face it until you sort of talked me into it. You’re braver than me. I’m just worried about you.”
Simeon kissed him. “We’ll be brave together. Let’s just get some rest, yeah? We can fix everything in the morning. But no more dreaming,”
“Deal.”
No solutions miraculously appeared in the morning. Not even after a good meal in the hotel restaurant. Still, they dressed in their newly clean clothes, packed up everything else, and said goodbye to the Langham. Simeon had the feeling that they wouldn’t soon, if ever, have access to such a nice room or such a comfortable bed.
Today was Sunday, and the fickle weather had turned warm again. Well-dressed men and women promenaded along the pavement, occasionally pausing to chat with someone they knew. They ignored Simeon and Crow, who were clearly not of their social class, and that was fine with Simeon. He’d learned long ago that being nearly invisible had its advantages.
“I reckon we could return to the Castle, since that’s our best lead.”
“Fine. But you’re not gonna?—”
“Crow.”
It was a short walk to the Castle, with the quality of the neighborhood quickly degenerating. Here people did look at Simeon and Crow, their eyes suspicious or calculating. But because Crow could manage a threatening aura quite well, most passersby kept their distance.
In their spot across the street from the Castle, Simeon took several deep breaths. “I’m going to look for him again. But later in time, yeah? I want to see if I can find him the day he left for good.”
“And then what? We trail after him? That’s gonna get us run over, here in this time.”
Simeon shrugged. He reached into the time stream again. It felt good, he realized. He’d experienced air conditioning in Crow’s time, and this was a bit like that, or like a cool clear stream on a hot day. And if he concentrated very hard, he could gain a sense of what was happening at any point in the stream. He couldn’t see or hear things—nothing as clear as that—but rather it was more like a sort of… bump. A knot in a length of twine, a ridge on the edge of a coin. Just a tiny bit of something that communicated quite a bit.
Maybe this was how fortunetellers and soothsayers operated—the honest ones, anyway. Feeling the timeline for the wrinkles that related to those who came seeking their fortune. Maybe this is what Simeon had done, entirely by accident, the day a blond Illinois farm boy had wandered into Madame Persephone’s tent.
Just… there. Yes.
A steady drizzle fell as the Castle door swung open and a tall man stepped out. He was middle-aged, his side whiskers going gray, and his coat and hat looked expensive. He didn’t look behind himself as he marched to a waiting carriage, but three children followed him: two girls and a boy. The boy was Bran, and he was perhaps thirteen or fourteen, his arms and legs seemingly too long for his body, his trousers too short.
Bran turned his head in Simeon’s direction, but before they could lock gazes, Simeon released the time stream. He slumped back against the building under sunny skies and gave Crow a small triumphant smile. “Found him,” he said after taking a few seconds to recover. “I’d wager he and those girls had just been taken on as household servants, and their new employers were rich. That coach was a private landau.”
“Is that like the Mercedes-Benz of carriages?”
Simeon didn’t understand the question, so he ignored it. “D’you know what else? The shiny bits painted on the side of the landau were the family emblem. Now all we have to do is find the Fitzrolfs.”