Chapter 18
CHAPTER 18
S imeon wasn’t certain he’d make it all the way back. If Bran took off, there was no way Simeon could pursue him. But Bran remained, flapping beside him.
Fields gave way to houses, first widely spaced and then crammed tightly together. Under other circumstances Simeon might have found the view charming, but now he was both fatigued and consumed with worry about Crow, whom he’d abandoned in a filthy alley in order to chase after… whatever it was he wanted from Bran. He didn’t even know.
What if Crow’s uncanny healing ability didn’t work in this time and place? What if there were a finite number of times that Crow could recover from mortal wounds? What if… well, a thousand what-ifs spun through his brain. They were pretty much the only things keeping him aloft at this point.
He found the alley without any effort and circled in to land in the narrow space. His rook eyes worked poorly in the dark, so he changed shape as quickly as possible, ignoring the accompanying twinge of pain .
Crow lay curled on his side with his back against a wall, arms obscuring his face.
“Crow!” Simeon ran over and knelt beside him. “Crow, love, please….” He was hesitant to move those arms, fearful that he’d discover pale eyes fixed sightlessly.
But then Crow twitched a bit, making Simeon sob with relief. “Did you… find him?” It sounded as if Crow could barely draw breath.
Simeon glanced over his own shoulder and saw Bran donning the clothing he’d abandoned earlier. Hopefully that meant he intended to stay, at least for now. “Yes. Love, let me?—”
“Don’t.” A sharp intake of air. “Still… coming together.”
Simeon didn’t like the sound of that, or the ashen pallor of Crow’s face, but he also didn’t want to cause more pain. “What can I do?”
“Get dressed.” Crow made a noise that might have been an attempt at laughter.
While nudity wasn’t Simeon’s primary concern at the moment, putting on clothes wasn’t a bad idea, and he certainly didn’t want to argue with Crow. At least it meant he was doing something. His clothing was somewhat the worse for wear after sitting in an alley and, he realized, soaking in Crow’s blood, but there wasn’t anything to be done about that right now.
“Oughtn’t you fetch a doctor?” asked Bran.
Simeon glared at him. “Now you’re concerned for his well-being?”
“He attacked me after you… did whatever you did to me. I was just protecting myself.”
“By gutting my beloved.”
“I didn’t know he was your beloved, and if I had known, I wouldn’t have cared. I still don’t. I don’t know who you people are and what you want from me, and if you care so much for him, why aren’t you taking him to a bloody doctor?”
It was interesting, Simeon thought, that Bran wasn’t objecting to his admission that he loved a man. Perhaps that was simply the least relevant fact right now.
With another hard look in Bran’s direction, Simeon returned to Crow’s side. “How can I help?”
“Just… wait. Should… be able to… move soon.”
“Would it help if I bandaged you?”
“No.” Crow moved a bit, moaned and stilled. “You can… make a plan.”
Simeon feared that Crow’s confidence was misplaced. He rarely made plans, and when he did—such as deciding to find his brother in the time stream—things went badly. But Crow was clearly in no position to find solutions, and Bran continued to simply stand and gape.
Right. He thumped his skull as if that might knock some ideas free. And perhaps it did, because a moment later he nodded. “I know a rooming house not far from here. Fairly respectable place. I’ve stayed there a few times when I was flush. As soon as you can walk, we’ll go there and get a room. I can clean you up, and then Bran and I will have a talk.”
Crow sighed. “No Langham, I suppose.”
“We’re looking far too disreputable for that. Besides, you mustn’t travel so far.”
Apparently resigned, Crow closed his eyes.
After a minute or two, Bran crept closer. “Is he dead?”
“No!” Simeon snapped.
“I don’t understand anything that’s happening today. I was nowhere near London and I was sitting, and….” He lifted his arms in a helpless gesture. “But then suddenly I was here and he was chasing me?—”
“After you hit me. Don’t forget that bit. ”
“And you say you’re my brother, which does make some sense, but then how?—”
“We can discuss this later. I’ve questions as well.”
Bran didn’t look pleased to be put off, but as far as Simeon was concerned, he could go on being confused. If he hadn’t stabbed Crow, they wouldn’t be delayed right now.
Simeon and Bran ended up squatting against the building for twenty minutes or so, waiting for Crow. Simeon listened to the familiar sounds of the city, remembering how they’d served as the chorus of his life for so long. He hadn’t missed that song, exactly, but now it felt comfortable enough.
Finally Crow stirred. “Help me sit, please.” His voice was stronger now.
After Simeon’s assist, Crow slumped against the wall, breathing heavily. “Hurts like a motherfucker,” he mumbled.
“I’m sorry. Can I?—”
“But it’s better than dying.” He coughed, and Simeon was relieved to see that no blood came from his mouth. “Kid stole one of our bags.”
“What?” Confused for a moment, Simeon then noticed a single knapsack lying forgotten in the mud.
“Guess he figured that I was dead and wouldn’t need it anymore. He was gonna take the other one too, but I made a noise and scared the wits out of him. He ran off. Sorry I lost some of our stuff.”
“You didn’t lose it, love. And it’s no matter. We can manage without.” They still had a fair amount of money left; only a few coins had been in the packs. Anyway, Simeon never felt particularly concerned about funds or personal belongings. Both of those came and went. He’d always been able to nick something when his pockets were empty.
Crow wiggled a bit, doubtless trying for a more comfortable position. He held one arm tightly against his torso as if fearing he might fall apart, and even though his face was still deathly pale, his gaze was sharper. And now he focused it for the first time on Bran. “If he bulked up, you two could practically be twins.”
“Who are you?” Bran demanded. Then his frown deepened. “Why does he keep calling you a crow? Can you, erm….”
That made Crow snort. “No, I can’t sprout feathers. My name is Crow Rapp. And you, I take it, are Bran Frugis.”
“Bran Rose.”
Crow seemed confused by this, so Simeon stepped in to explain. “I expect they gave him a new surname at the Castle. He might not have known his original one, or perhaps someone convinced him to forget it.”
Bran’s jaw had tightened. “I was named after a nearby street. We all were.”
“And I was named after the bells at St. Matthews,” said Simeon, pointing in the church’s general direction. “Dunno how they came up with Simeon though.”
“Lewis.”
A flash of anger sped Simeon’s pulse. “No. Simeon.”
When Bran opened his mouth to respond, Crow cleared his throat. “I’m starving and I reek of blood. Can we argue later?”
Simeon rushed to help him to his feet. Although Crow looked wobbly and his face was drawn with pain, he managed to remain upright, and Simeon was extremely relieved to see that none of his innards made an appearance.
“Oi! Come help,” Simeon commanded Bran.
After a brief hesitation, he obeyed. Simeon paused to scoop up their remaining pack, and then the three of them slowly left the alley. Crow had his arms around their shoulders and they bore a good deal of his weight, while he appeared to concentrate on keeping his legs moving and his feet under him .
They must have been quite a sight. People goggled but nobody seemed eager to interfere. In fact, the crowd parted as the gory trio made their way down the street. Simeon could hardly blame them.
It was only a three-block walk to the lodging house, which was on one of the more respectable streets in the neighborhood, but it took a long time to reach it. Simeon wasn’t sure they’d make it, and Crow looked more than half dead by the time Simeon rapped on the door. The thin middle-aged woman who answered appeared less than thrilled to see them.
“Madam,” Simeon said quickly, before she could shoo them away. “Our friend’s been run over by a hackney cab and we need to let a room so he can recover.” He did his best to look charming, which wasn’t easy under the circumstances.
She pursed her lips. “I run a proper house. I don’t allow any trouble.”
“We won’t be, madam, I assure you. He needs to rest, and we’ll all be quiet as church mice.”
“No. He might die, and I don’t wish to have that problem.”
“I’ll live,” said Crow, probably not as convincingly as he intended, and the landlady continued to look skeptical. Simeon was about three seconds away from collapsing himself.
“Madam, perhaps you might recall that I’ve let a room from you in the past. I caused no trouble then and I won’t now.” That was accurate. These relatively posh lodgings had been a rare sanctuary, and he’d treated the place accordingly.
“I don’t remember you.”
He racked his tired brain to remember the timing. At this point he was lucky he remembered his own name. “It was… three years ago? April of 1880, I believe.” Simeon’s pockets had been especially full after several days of haunting the Strand and dipping into the pockets of the sw ells who’d come to see the latest Gilbert and Sullivan operetta.
Crow groaned piteously, and although her expression softened a bit, she still blocked the entrance. “You didn’t have him with you then,” she said, meaning Crow. Bran was the least blood-covered of the three of them and apparently didn’t warrant objection.
Simeon was sagging under Crow’s weight, so he made a desperate stab. “Get us some hot water and plenty of towels, and I’ll pay you a guinea for the week.”
That was at least twice the going rate, and it did the trick. She nodded, he handed over payment, and she let them in.
They had to drag Crow up a flight of stairs, which made Simeon wish desperately for a lift like the Langham’s, but the room itself wasn’t bad. Not posh, but there were two beds, a tiny sitting area with a table and a mismatched pair of chairs, and a few additional pieces of ancient furniture. Simeon helped Crow onto the nearer bed and began taking off his shoes.
“Mrs.… erm….”
“Mrs. Plank,” she said.
“I’m Mr. Bell. Could you get us those towels and hot water? And perhaps some tea as well?” The tea wasn’t necessary, but Crow would likely appreciate some in a bit, and the process might keep the landlady distracted.
She gave Crow another deeply skeptical look but then apparently concluded that she’d made her decision already and might as well move along. She gave a curt nod before leaving the room.
By now Simeon had removed Crow’s shoes and socks and needed to get the rest of his clothing off. It was going to be tricky to avoid jostling him. Crow’s eyes were closed, and the blood on his skin and clothing looked even grimmer against the light-colored bedding. Gritting his teeth, Simeon unbuttoned Crow’s ruined shirt and spread it open.
A deep slash ran down Crow’s torso, beginning just under the center of his ribcage, going down at an angle, and disappearing beneath the waistband of his trousers. When Simeon unbuttoned those as well, he saw that the wound ended near Crow’s hip. There was too much drying blood to accurately judge the depth of the cut, but it hadn’t yet closed, which meant it had originally been very deep indeed.
“Fucking hell,” Simeon swore under his breath.
Crow pried one eyelid open and rasped, “Bedside manner… needs improvement.”
“Lovely. Now you decide to develop a sense of humor.”
One corner of Crow’s mouth curled infuriatingly, making Simeon love him so fiercely that his heart felt as if it might burst from his chest. As if it wasn’t more than enough to have one of them split open already.
“He should be dead from that.” Bran had come close and peered around Simeon.
“And you should be dead for chiving my mate. It’s a day of bleeding miracles, ain’t it?”
“But he attacked?—”
“Shut it.” Simeon looked at Crow’s pale body, abused and exposed, and suddenly wanted some privacy. He turned to Bran. “He’s going to be hungry soon, so?—”
“Nobody hurt that badly wants to eat!” protested Bran.
Simeon dredged up the last shreds of his patience. “He is going to be hungry. Go out and fetch loads of food. Something filling like meat pies, yeah?”
“I haven’t any money.”
Of course not. Simeon hauled coins out of one of his hiding spots and handed them over. Then he had another thought. “Crow and I both need shirts and trousers that don’t look as if we’ve been butchering something. Fetch those as well. I’m the same height as you, I reckon, and Crow’s just a bit taller.”
Although Bran still looked sullen, he tucked away the money and started for the door.
“And Bran? You will return soon, yeah?”
Bran gave a quick nod and left.
Simeon didn’t know how he’d expected the reunion with his brother to go, but he certainly hadn’t planned on this. Nothing to be done about it now, though.
He smoothed a palm over Crow’s forehead. “Love, will it hurt too much if I clean you up?”
“No.”
Simeon had just removed the last of Crow’s clothing—Crow moaning slightly with pain—when there was a knock on the door. Simeon hastily flung a blanket over him and ushered Mrs. Plank inside. She carried a large vessel of steaming water, which she set on the washstand with a small grunt. “I’ll be back with towels and clean rags.”
“Thank you.”
“He wasn’t run over by a cab, though.” She put her hands on her hips and raised her eyebrows.
Well, why not the truth then? “No ma’am. He was cut with a knife. It was, erm, a misunderstanding.”
That made her snort. “You men and your misunderstandings. Do you need needle and thread to sew him up?”
Simeon didn’t, but couldn’t very well explain why. “That would be helpful.”
“He’ll likely die from a fever anyway, you know. You ought to just give him some gin and laudanum to keep him more comfortable.”
“We’ll take our chances on him living, thanks.”
Her expression showed disagreement, but she didn’t argue before leaving the room. She returned a few minutes later with a stack of folded cloths and set them on the unoccupied bed. “I’ll be back with tea shortly.”
Simeon began by washing Crow’s face and upper chest, then moved on to his legs. He told himself this was so the wound would have a bit more time to heal, but really he was afraid to see it too closely. He draped Crow again when Mrs. Plank returned with the tea things and a needle and thread. She seemed disappointed to not get a peek at the injuries, but she left fairly quickly.
Finally there was nothing left to address but the wound itself. It was ghastly. Even though the ends of it had already closed, creating pink raised scars, the middle still gaped open.
“You look like you’re gonna puke,” said Crow.
“There are bits of you I don’t fancy viewing.”
“You’ve never seen someone stabbed before?”
“I’ve never seen someone I love stabbed before.”
Crow reached up to pat Simeon’s arm, which seemed all wrong; Simeon should be giving comfort, not needing it. “I’ll be fine,” said Crow. “Just give me a few hours and I’ll be up and moving. By morning even the scars will be gone.”
“But right now you’re gutted like a fish at the market, and you’re in pain.”
Simeon got a fresh cloth and kept his movements slow and gentle as he dried Crow’s skin. His mouth tasted bitter even though he’d taken a few sips of sugared tea. This beautiful body that he’d touched so many times, that had pressed against his during so many nights, was marred. Desecrated.
Crow’s skin was unnaturally pale where it wasn’t damaged, and it was cold. Simeon wanted to touch it, to warm it, to worship it. To make it holy again, because the living landscape before him was his church.
But Crow needed cleaning, not petting, and in any case Simeon wasn’t worthy .
“I’m sorry,” he said, not looking at Crow’s face.
“It’s fine. You’re being really careful. It’s nice being taken care of when I’m hurt.”
And that reminded Simeon: there had been many occasions when Crow was injured and had nobody to clean his wounds or make him comfortable. Those thoughts certainly didn’t make the current situation any better.
“I meant I’m sorry….” Now Simeon did look at Crow’s face, but only because he felt he ought to. “For everything I’ve done to you.”
For once, Crow wasn’t scowling. “What have you done to me?”
“Stranded you in this bloody time and place. Obsessed over my stupid family. Got you stabbed. Abandoned you in an alley when you were….” His throat tightened too much to continue.
It took a few moments for Crow to respond, and in the meantime, Simeon continued to clean him. “Sim, I seem to remember getting you into some pretty bad scrapes. When I tried to apologize, you yelled at me. Kept reminding me that you made the choice to go along with me. I made that same choice. And I’d make it again.”
Simeon sighed. “You shouldn’t follow me. I make crap decisions.”
“We both do, sometimes. And sometimes we make good ones.” Crow squirmed just a bit as if making himself more comfortable. “I’m going to spout poetry now.”
“Not bleeding old Whitman again,” said Simeon, unable to hide a smile. “Is the bastard alive now? I’ll track him down and tell him my thoughts about him living in my mate’s head.”
“ You are not thrown to the winds, you gather certainly and safely around yourself. Yourself, yourself! yourself for ever and ever.”
“I’ve no notion what that rot means.”
“It means I believe in you.”