Chapter 21
CHAPTER 21
C row crouched beside him, naked, his eyes wide with fear. Bran, in an undershirt and drawers, stood just out of reach, his mouth hanging open. Someone had lit a lamp, casting a pale yellow glow over all of them.
“You shouldn’t be out of bed,” Simeon scolded Crow.
“You were dissolving .” Crow made a breathy sound, like a sob.
Simeon felt tingly and a bit… absent, but more or less whole. He sat up slowly, careful not to bash heads with Crow. “Have you any of that gin left, mate? Could use a drop.” He didn’t actually fancy gin and generally preferred sobriety, but he’d make an exception.
Bran fetched the bottle and handed it to him from as far away as possible. Simeon took several large swallows, made a face at the taste, and gave the bottle back. Bran took a drink as well.
“What in blazes did you do to me this time?” Bran demanded of him.
“Wasn’t him,” said Crow. “That was me.” He helped Simeon to his feet. “Happens sometimes—I pull Simeon into my dreams. I’ve never dragged in a third person before.”
“That’s not possible.”
Simeon and Crow scoffed in unison. Then Simeon noticed that Crow’s entire wound had healed into a faint pink scar, which made Simeon feel loads better about the world despite what had just happened to him. At least they weren’t both falling apart. They made their way to the bed and sat down heavily; Crow pulled the bedcovers over his lap in a rather belated stab at modesty.
Not that Bran seemed to care about Crow’s nudity. Or about Simeon’s near disappearance, for that matter. He seemed too stuck on the dream itself. “How did you do that?” he demanded.
Crow sighed. “No clue. It just happens sometimes. It’s not on purpose, and if there’s some way for me to control it, I haven’t figured it out yet.”
“You do control it,” Simeon reminded him. “But not consciously.”
“Whatever. What matters now is what’s going on with you and how we stop it. You scared the shit out of me, Sim.”
Bran’s face, usually as pale as Simeon’s, had gone red. “You can bring me into your dreams ?” he ground out. His hands were shaking until he curled them into fists.
Simeon stood, putting himself between Crow and Bran. “Don’t even think of stabbing him again. He didn’t mean to do it, and you weren’t harmed by it.”
“Not harmed! The two of you have pulled me about as if I’m a puppet on a string.”
“I’m sorry, but we’ll work it out, and?—”
“And what? Where will you throw me next, pray tell?” Bran began furiously gathering his things: shirt, trousers, coat, hat, and finally his shoes. Without pausing to put any of them on, he stomped across the room and out the door, slamming it behind him.
As Simeon prepared to put on enough clothing to follow him, Crow grabbed his arm. “Let him go.”
“I can find him. I only need to….” He closed his eyes and started to feel for the time stream, but Crow gently shook his shoulders.
“Stop it. I don’t want to risk you evaporating. It’s getting worse every time you do your thing.” Crow embraced him and murmured in his ear. “He’ll be back, I bet. Give him some time. Poor guy’s been through a lot over the past day.”
Simeon allowed himself to relax. Crow was naked and warm and holding him, and that was a delightful distraction. “This wasn’t how I imagined our reunion working out.”
And maybe that was part of why he was so upset. He’d put considerable effort into finding Bran, had even possibly put himself and Crow at risk, but there had been no outpouring of filial love. He wasn’t even sure he liked Bran, and Bran certainly didn’t seem to think much of him or Crow.
“You shouldn’t be out of bed,” he said.
“Jeez, I’m fine. It was a big cut but a pretty clean one, and now it barely even hurts.”
“What if you can heal yourself only a finite number of times and this was the last one?”
Crow chuckled. “Do you think I’m a cat and this was my ninth life?”
“Love—”
“You know what? If you’re going to fuss over me, how about feeding me? I’m starved.”
Knitting one’s body back together so swiftly burned a lot of energy; Simeon knew this from past experiences with Crow. But only a single meat pie remained, and it looked soggy and unappetizing. “I’ll go fetch you something. ”
“The sun’s not even up yet. Is anything open?”
Simeon laughed. He’d once heard someone refer to New York City as the city that never sleeps, and perhaps that was accurate. But if so, it was only in imitation of London. Long before dawn, farmers arrived from the countryside to settle their produce into market stalls, and fishermen unloaded their catches. Bakers lit their ovens. Postmen sorted the arrivals from trains. In posh neighborhoods, servants lighted fires, prepared their masters’ breakfasts, and set out clothing. Horses, cows, pigs, chickens, and dogs were fed, cows milked, and horses saddled or harnessed. And at the same time, those who worked late hours—constables, hackney drivers, and others—were on their way home, as were students and other revelers who’d finally drunk their fill. Those without homes stirred in alleys and brickyards and under bridges, gathering whatever few belongings they possessed and steeling themselves for another day of trying to stay alive.
And all of these people would want to eat. Some were fortunate enough to consume a meal where they lived; others remained hollow-bellied. And the rest, thousands and thousands of them, would stop at coffee stalls or buy something from a costermonger. If they had a bit more money, they might go to a bakery or get some fried fish or a ham sandwich.
“Simeon?”
“Sorry—I just realized I’m hungry as well.”
Crow cast a glance at the pile of bloody towels and ruined clothing “Um… do I have anything to wear? Or were you planning to keep me naked forever?”
“There’s a lovely thought,” Simeon said with a grin. “I sent Bran for fresh clothes last night. But you needn’t put them on now.”
“I do if I’m going to join you for breakfast. And don’t tell me I should languish in bed instead. I’m sticking to your side.” The stubborn set to Crow’s jaw was familiar, and Simeon loved it even if it was annoying. Perhaps that was what love meant, in fact: finding even your partner’s irritating faults at least somewhat endearing.
Simeon simply pointed at the little stack of clothes on one chair.
Although a few people moved about, the neighborhood was quiet. Almost all of the surrounding windows were dark, and Simeon’s and Crow’s footsteps echoed off the bricks. A small gray cat accompanied them for a few blocks, not mewing or begging for food, simply keeping pace as if joining them for a stroll. At a certain point, it hopped down into a window well and disappeared inside a building.
Showing no signs of discomfort, Crow swiveled his head curiously. “I wonder what this neighborhood looks like a hundred years from now. Um, don’t actually try to answer that, okay? I never paid much attention to history when I was in school. It was boring. Bunch of emperors and wars and stuff. I wish they’d taught us the important things, like who lived in places like this and what they did.”
Simeon’s heart warmed with pleasure. “I lived in places like this.”
“I know. Like I said, the important things.”
When Crow said things like that, Simeon could believe him. Could honestly feel as if he was someone. After all, Crow himself was spectacular, and if he believed that Simeon was someone of value, there must be some truth in it.
This, Simeon realized, was one of his moments of joy. Strolling through his old neighborhood with a man who loved him and didn’t look down on Simeon’s decidedly humble—and odd—origins. Having a comfortable room waiting for them, the rent paid for an entire week. More coins heavy in his pockets. A strong and healthy body .
And then his vision shimmered and the dark street brightened a bit. He saw squat brick buildings lining an asphalted road. The ground floors of these buildings housed shops with brightly colored signs: a barber, a grocer, a travel agent, a pawnbroker. But none of them were open. The storefronts were covered by folding metal shutters, each of them decorated liberally—if mostly unintelligibly—with graffiti. An older woman sat on a bench inside a three-sided glass shelter, a man in a skintight outfit zoomed past on a bicycle, and another man walked by on the pavement, staring intently at the slim object he held in one hand.
Black Lives Matter was painted on the wall overlooking a weedy empty lot. Simeon pointed and asked, “What does that mean?”
But Crow looked terrified. “Get us back, Simeon. Get us back right now.” His fingers dug into Simeon’s wrist.
Although Simeon’s wrist, hand, and forearm looked fairly normal, the rest of him—the parts he could see, at any rate—were transparent and wispy, like thin clouds.
And he didn’t feel right.
“Crow….”
“Now, dammit!”
Crow’s grip was going to bruise. But the pain was a good thing, a tactile focus. If you hurt, that meant you still existed. Simeon gathered all of his mental energy and gave a wrench so hard he fell backward….
And into Crow’s arms, in a gaslit brick-paved street.
“Simeon!” Panic made Crow’s voice shrill. Like a frightened crow, in fact.
“Just… just a mo’….” Simeon panted heavily for what felt like years and was finally able to support himself without Crow’s help. “Sorry.”
“Let’s go back to our room.”
“No. Food first.” Simeon could be stubborn too .
In the very next block was a shop selling bagels, which surprised Crow enough to make him comment on it despite his ongoing distress. “I didn’t know you guys had them,” he said, waving at the window display of bread rolls strung on long wooden dowels. And then, looking at the sign, “You spell it weird, though. B-e-i-g-e-l-s.”
Simeon tugged him into the shop, which smelled heavenly, and they bought a half dozen. On the way back to their lodging house, they stopped at a butcher’s stall in the just-opened market and bought slices of something purporting to be roast beef. They sat on a low stone wall and ate their breakfast, washing it down with hot milky coffee from another stall.
“Are you okay?” asked Crow, after Simeon had sat for a time staring blankly.
“You’re the one who was sliced open.”
Crow banged their shoulders together. “You know what I mean.”
“Where do you reckon I’d go if I disappeared altogether? Would I end up in another time or place, or simply cease to exist?”
“Don’t,” growled Crow.
“Merely a philosophical question.”
“Leave it to the philosophers.”
Crow didn’t always worry, wasn’t always grim. Not since he’d defeated the demons. And even during some of their days together before then, when they’d been crossing the continent and fearing disaster, there had been moments when Crow opened up to him like a blossom in the sun. When his eyes were as clear as a perfect spring sky and he smiled widely enough to show his sharp canine teeth. There had been many of those times while they were in the carnival, but not lately .
“The world is so full of wonders,” said Simeon. “Everywhere you look, if you only stop to notice.”
“I know. But nothing’s wonderful to me unless you’re there to share it.”
“But what about now, love? Never mind five minutes in the future. If I can travel in time, why can’t I stop traveling as well—freeze it so that we have this moment for as long as we like?”
Crow managed a small smile, which was a victory. “I guess part of what makes time precious is knowing that everything passes.”
That made sense. You valued something more if you had it in short supply.
A boy of perhaps nine or ten stood nearby, trying to look inconspicuous. And largely succeeding, because few were paying him any mind. He was grimy, his clothes ragged and ill-fitting, his eyes too big in a thin face. His hair was a nondescript brown, not black, and yet he reminded Simeon of himself at that age. The boy appeared to be utterly alone and without prospects, yet there was still a brightness in his expression that suggested he hadn’t yet given up.
“Oi!” Simeon called, interrupting the boy just as he was sizing up two women with baskets over their arms. Sometimes it was easier to steal from two people than one because they distracted each other with conversation, and then you could creep up, smug a handkerchief or a purse, and be away before either of them noticed.
The boy looked up sharply and tensed as if preparing to run. But Simeon flashed a shilling coin. “C’mere, then,” he said.
The boy did, but slowly, and he remained well out of reach.
“Need you to do something. I’ll give you this.”
“Do what?” The boy was rightfully wary, but a shilling would allow him to eat for a couple of days, if he was careful with it. “I ain’t gonna let neither of you touch me.”
Crow put on his angriest scowl and Simeon suppressed a shudder. He hadn’t minded taking money for sex when he was older. Sometimes it was fun and he’d felt that it was honest work, even if illegal. But when he was a child… well, he didn’t want to think about that right now.
“We won’t,” he assured the boy. “You can stand where you are if you like. I simply want you to answer a question. For my mate’s benefit.” He elbowed Crow gently.
“What question?” The boy scratched an arm, making Simeon itch in sympathy. Scabies or fleas or simply the effect of filth on skin—he remembered those sensations all too well.
“I want you to tell him something that’s made you happy of late. Not an ordinary thing like eating or drawing a wiper.”
At first the boy frowned almost as impressively as Crow, but he kept his eye on the shilling, and eventually his expression cleared. “The ragged school. I’ve been going every night, I have. Last night they gave us supper—I know you said not to talk about eating, but it was nice—and I read a whole page of the Bible.” His broad grin showed his pride in the accomplishment.
“A whole page!”
The boy lifted his chin. “By myself.”
“That’s lovely.” Simeon was sincere. Literacy might or might not save this child from a future of hopeless poverty, but even if it didn’t help him find a position when he was a bit older, it would make him feel more capable. More worthy. The ability to read was proof that one was more than a dumb beast.
“Gimme a bob now. You promised.”
“So I did. But perhaps you’d accept this instead.” Simeon tossed him a silver coin .
The boy caught it neatly, goggled at it briefly, and then sped away with his new wealth clutched tightly in a fist.
“How much did you give him?” Crow asked.
“A bull. That’s a crown.” Then, remembering that Crow seemed mystified by how money worked here, he added, “Five shillings.”
“Generous.”
“He helped me make my point. Happiness is there even for the lowly. It glints through the darkness like a jewel emerging from stone.”
Crow raised a hand as if he intended to touch Simeon’s face but then let it drop. His eyes shone. “Forget time travel or flight or magic healing. Optimism is your superpower, and I’m so glad you share it with me.”
Simeon lowered his voice to a whisper. “I’d very much fancy sharing some of it right now. Without clothing in the way.”
Ah, there was Crow’s most wicked grin, which was, in all honesty, too sweet to be truly wicked. He stood and brushed crumbs from his shirt. “That sounds like an excellent plan.”