Chapter 33
CHAPTER 33
H e slept—for how long, he couldn’t tell—in this place where time didn’t exist. He felt rested when he awoke, and his mind was somewhat less tattered although all the conflicting layers of memories still remained. Pastries awaited him, along with cured meats, pickled vegetables, and an enormous pot of tea. There was no sign of Atty. He also couldn’t find a door, which should have made him feel caged but didn’t. Maybe because of the open window and the sweet scent of mown hay that drifted in.
There was little else to do, so he ate, stared out the window, browsed book titles, and drank tea. He went for a short flight, but although the landscape was pretty, it wasn’t diverse. Boredom quickly arose, so he returned to the room, where more food awaited him. This time it was a pizza loaded with cheese and sausage, along with a pitcher of beer. All very delicious, but it made him sleepy, and when he curled up in a chair with a book called Ulysses —which wasn’t about the Greek bloke and was nearly incomprehensible besides—he kept dozing off .
“Do you find the accommodations comfortable?”
Simeon blinked at Atty, who sat in the other chair wearing a gray trouser suit and a grape-hued tie. Her silver hair, unbound, hung in waves nearly to her waist.
“Yes, ma’am, and thank you. You’re very kind.”
“Few people realize that, you know. They consider me cruel.” She looked a little wistful for a moment. “I am aware that most mortals think of my sisters and me as being very powerful, but our abilities are nothing compared to those of mortals. We are constrained to perform our duties and nothing more, yet you can make choices that change the world.”
He smiled. “We can steer our own ships.”
“Precisely. Yes, you may steer blindly or foolishly or, like Ulysses, be sorely tempted to go where you should not. Shipwrecks occur often. But nonetheless, you have chosen your course. That is a tremendous power to possess.”
Simeon could have continued her analogy, pointing out that some people got yachts whereas others got half-sunk dinghies. And that even though everyone encountered storms and hidden rocks and other dangers over which they had no control, and sometimes no warning, some had rescue crews at the ready while others had to fend for themselves. But her main point did remain, he supposed: everyone made choices. He certainly had. So he held his tongue.
She cocked her head slightly. “I don’t often have guests. Is there anything else you need?”
“I don’t suppose you could bring Crow here too?”
“It’s… not impossible. But what would be the point of it?”
Crow would be with him— that would be the point. But Simeon thought before answering, and then he saw her meaning. He was bored after only a short time here. Crow would be climbing the walls very quickly. Neither of them could spend eternity simply… being. Besides, there was still Bran to deal with.
“Ma’am, you brought me here straight from the place with the cages. For which I’m very grateful. Where did Bran go?”
“Where he went after every failed attempt to change the world—back to the original path. He’s in very bad condition, I’m afraid.”
Simeon sighed. “Using the box drains one.”
“Remember what I told you, child. The box is you—both of you. When you draw on it so heavily, you diminish yourself.”
He closed the book and set it on the floor beside him. Whatever adventures Stephen Dedalus was going to experience, he’d have them without Simeon’s company. “If he uses it, does it diminish me as well?”
She gave a slight smile. “Not as noticeably, but yes.”
“So even if his new paths weren’t destroying me and taking me from Crow, I couldn’t simply ignore him.”
“Would you ignore him if it wasn’t affecting you?”
He considered this before shaking his head. “I reckon not.”
They sat together for some time, not speaking. He had no notion what Atty was thinking; his own thoughts chased within his skull like rats in a cage. Somewhere an inkling of a plan was forming, but he couldn’t catch it and he certainly didn’t know whether it had merit. He wasn’t accustomed to planning.
“I wish I were more clever,” he sighed.
“Oh, you know everything you need to know. You just haven’t made the effort to put it together.”
Simeon frowned and closed his eyes like a child trying to hide from something unpleasant. When he’d been very young and the nights at the foundling home lonely and terrifying, he used to squeeze his eyes shut and imagine himself flying—which should perhaps have hinted at his nature, except loads of people dream of flight and few of them are rooks. He would will himself to fly into good dreams instead of nightmares, and sometimes that worked.
He spoke now without opening his eyes. “According to Crow, his Dr. Freud believes that dreams are a way for our minds to tell us something. Like passing on secrets we don’t truly want to know.”
“Dr. Freud has some interesting ideas. Some of them are preposterous. Who but a man would believe that girls experience penis envy?”
That made Simeon look at her. “Penis envy?”
“Hmm.”
Dismissing this as irrelevant, he again closed his eyes and focused on dreams. This made some sense to him, since Atty had told him that this place was, in effect, a dream realm. And his beloved Crow walked in dreams, sometimes taking Simeon along with him. Fine. Asleep, what message would he pass on to his conscious self?
And then Simeon gasped. “ I was the bird!” It seemed blatantly obvious now : the rook that had led him eastward from Russell Square had been Simeon himself. “But I don’t remember being… being the other one.”
“That’s because you haven’t been, yet.”
“But if I haven’t done it yet, why do I remember meeting myself?”
Atty crossed her arms. “Don’t try to untie this knot, child. Understanding it is beyond mortal abilities. All that you need to do is remember that this place, here, is outside of time.”
The headache was back. “Right. So I can still do the thing I remember having done even if I haven’t done it yet.”
“Something like that,” she said with a chuckle.
“But then I met—will meet—did meet… bloody hell, this is hard! I’ll meet myself. I’ve been told several times what a bad idea that is. Seen it myself with Bran, in fact.”
She raised her eyebrows. “And do you always follow rules?”
Of course he didn’t.
And now he had additional problems. First, how was he to go back to that afternoon without possession of the box? And second, what message was he trying to give himself when he got there?
The answer to the first one came to him quickly. Presumably he could pop from his current location to any time and place he wished. Somehow.
“If I dream,” he said out loud.
“Very good.”
Then what did he need to tell himself? Something to do with Bran, he assumed. A hint for how to get the bastard to stop destroying everything—and stop destroying himself and Crow. The first step to doing that would be to find him. But why would?—
Oh, bloody hell.
“I’d like a nap now,” Simeon announced.
“Of course.” Atty stood and smoothed her skirt. “Sweet dreams.” She winked before leaving through the disappearing door.
Simeon stripped and climbed back into the very comfortable bed. The sun set and the interior lights dimmed. Soft music played somewhere and the air smelled faintly of lavender. “Ta, Atty,” he murmured.
Had he been a religious sort, he might have prayed for help. Since he wasn’t, he tried to invoke the spirit of Dr. Freud instead. “Make sure my dream is clear,” he ordered. “None of that tunnels-are-really-shagging nonsense.” He closed his eyes.
He was flying over London, the aerial view now familiar. He recognized the parks and landmarks and, when he dropped lower, saw enough details of clothing to assume he was in 1883 again, or very close to it. He searched for Bran. He spent what felt like forever circling, searching for any sign of his brother but finding nothing. It was a big city and Bran was just one person. This could take forever—assuming Bran was even there.
But then the knowledge came to him the way it sometimes did in dreams: he didn’t have to do it this way. He’d been able to track Crow across America, so it made sense that he could do the same with his own flesh and blood in their home country.
Simeon stopped searching and let his wings take him where they willed. Apparently, that was west. He felt a tug coming from that direction, as if he were attached by a rope, and immediately realized that a purple string was tied around his neck and stretched taut toward the westward horizon.
West. Avebury was west of London, and the Frugises had said that was where Simeon had been born. Bran as well, of course. It made perfect sense that he’d go there for a respite, especially since he preferred the countryside to the city.
With that realization the purple string disappeared, and Simeon banked into a sharp turn that took him back toward the center of the city. Back to Bloomsbury, where the vast bulk of the British Museum was easy to spot. He didn’t fly directly over the building, but rather along the adjacent street. First up Bloomsbury Square Garden, along Bedford Place, and then… yes. Just as he reached Russell Square he saw another bird flying to his left. Well, not another bird, exactly. It was him, from that earlier flight.
Simeon made sure that his other self caught sight of him, but he didn’t want to risk actually meeting; that would be too dangerous. Instead he played a bit of a game, flashing in and out of the trees at Russell Square before looping around to the west. He skimmed low over Hyde Park and then up high again over the houses of Kensington.
His other self pursued doggedly. But while the current Simeon had spent a good deal of time lounging about in Atty’s home, the older one was well into an exhausting day. Older Simeon couldn’t keep up with current Simeon, and although they left London together and sped over fields, older Simeon gave up and turned back.
Although he empathized, current Simeon was a bit disappointed. It was nice to have someone to fly with. He gave a single call, pointed his beak almost straight up at the sky, and woke up.
Atty sat on the chair beside the bed, knitting something with lilac-colored yarn.
Simeon sat up and stretched before smiling at her. “Ma’am? I’d be grateful if you’d return me to Crow now.”
“Which when and where?” She didn’t look up from her needles.
“London. The original path. Just as Bran returns from his… travels.”
Atty set her knitting in her lap and gave a brisk nod. “Very well.”
“Thank you. For everything.”
“I’d wish you good luck, but we both know it won’t be luck that wins or loses this game for you. And it won’t be fate either. It will be you, Simeon Bell.”
“I’m ready to try.”