Chapter 34
CHAPTER 34
A tty sent him back just as he’d been in her dream space: naked as the day he was born. Luckily she plopped him down inside Mrs. Plank’s lodging house, directly in front of Crow, standing next to one of the beds with no shirt on and with his mouth hanging open.
“What the fuck !” he shouted, jerking backward and falling onto the mattress with arms held protectively in front of his face. He looked dreadful, all ashen skin and huge eyes. But he was there , and that made Simeon whoop with joy and collapse onto him, engulfing Crow in his arms.
“Sim?” Crow clutched him back but his voice was broken.
“Aye, love. It’s me. It’s truly me.”
“I was— But no. I walked out of that tent and never saw you again. Or… I never went to the carnival at all. Or…. It didn’t matter. The demons kept winning, and I, God, you, we….” Crow started to sob, which was distressing because, unlike Simeon, he never cried. Simeon did the only thing he could do just then, which was to hold his Crow and stroke his back and tell him how much he loved him .
Eventually Crow ran out of steam and they sat on the bed, Crow sniffling and rubbing his eyes.
“You’ve made a snotty mess of us, you have,” Simeon said cheerfully. He knew their troubles were far from over, but they were together now , and that was the best he’d ever hope for.
“What the fuck , Simeon.” Crow’s voice still wobbled, but he seemed a little more settled. Simeon remembered that he himself had been in the fetal position when Atty rescued him, so he thought Crow was doing quite well, relatively speaking. Simeon wasn’t surprised that Crow, like him, remembered all of Bran’s alternate paths.
“Bran’s been?—”
“Bran’s been fucking up the world.”
“Aye.” Simeon sighed, then brightened. “But perhaps we’ve still a chance to mend things.”
Crow straightened his back and sharpened his gaze. “How?”
“Atty says he’s laid up for now and?—”
“Who’s Atty?”
“Eldest of the three sisters.”
Comprehension dawned. “Ah. I was wondering when she’d show up. I like her.”
“Fortunately for us, she fancies us as well. But I think it’s best if we get to Bran quickly. Along the way, we can fill each other in on our adventures.”
Crow shuddered. “I’d rather not think about any of that. Ever. The things I did….”
Simeon captured Crow’s face between his palms. “You did none of those things. They could have happened but didn’t. They had less substance than dreams… speaking of which, I’ve some information about yours. But we should go.”
“Where to?” Crow stood and pulled on his shirt.
“Avebury, or thereabouts.”
They gathered their few things and said goodbye to Mrs. Plank. She seemed happy, either because she’d be rid of them or because she was still in possession of the guinea they’d given her, even though they weren’t staying for the full week. Maybe both. Luckily they still had some pay left from the carnival.
They took a cab to Paddington Station, ate a few pies to settle their stomachs, and were on a train almost before they knew it. It wasn’t a long journey—only about an hour—so Simeon spoke quickly along the way, skimming over the disastrous paths that Bran had led him onto but discussing Atty and the dream space in more detail.
“I’m going to fucking kill him,” Crow growled. His hands were in fists so tight that the knuckles were white.
Simeon, who was gratified at Crow’s anger on his behalf, patted his knee. “There are solutions other than homicide, yeah?”
“I don’t care. He caged you like a goddamned lab animal.”
“I doubt that was his intention.”
“I don’t give a shit what he intended.”
After several minutes had passed, however, Crow’s tense shoulders loosened a bit and he heaved a sigh. “Fine. What other solution did you have in mind?”
“I’m going to take back the box. I’ve just as much claim to it as he does.”
“Yeah, and then he’ll just try to grab it back, and the two of you will end up playing a nasty game of tug of war. Plus, in the meantime the goddamn box will boomerang you around in time and be… eroding you.”
A scowling Crow was loads better than a crying one, Simeon decided as he leaned back against the hard wooden seat. “I’ll work something out.”
“But what if—” Crow stopped himself with visible effort, then muttered something under his breath. He was so beautiful, even with those lines furrowing his brow. Simeon wanted to sing with delight because he was lucky enough to be back on this path, the path where he’d spent so many glorious months with Crow.
“You’re happy ,” Crow said after a few minutes.
“My belly’s full. The scenery is agreeable. I’m on a pleasant train with the man I love. If I could, I’d be snogging you breathless right now.” Simeon had to settle for squeezing Crow’s hand instead.
A slow, sweet smile spread across Crow’s face and his eyes warmed. “It’s you again.”
“Pardon?”
“For a while now you’ve been sorta… down, I guess. Compared to your usual. You’ve said it several times: ‘I’m not meself lately.’” Crow’s imitation of Simeon’s accent was appalling enough to make Simeon burst into laughter.
“That’s bloody awful, love.” Another hand squeeze. “And aye, I’ve been saying that. Been feeling it. But when I was at Atty’s, I… became myself again, I expect. I saw who I am, good bits and bad, and Simeon Bell’s not such a terrible bloke, is he?”
“He’s the best I’ve ever known.”
Love filled Simeon so fiercely and so thoroughly that he felt as if he were drowning in it, a death he’d be almost happy to endure. He’d been content enough before he met Crow, but never had he dared to imagine that he—Simeon Bell, orphan and thief—would gain something so precious.
Crow was still smiling. “A bunch of years ago I lived with a houseful of hippies. I liked it. We got stoned a lot and listened to music. One of them, this woman called Zen, used to go on about how important it was to find yourself. She tried to teach me a lot of BS, but I think she was right about that. ’Course, she seemed to think the best place to find herself was inside a bong, but whatever.”
“Whatever,” Simeon echoed, exaggerating Crow’s flat Midwestern tones.
Crow poked him.
Swindon Junction was a three-story stone building with refreshment rooms on the ground floor and a lounge and hotel above. Simeon would have liked to take Crow up to one of those hotel rooms, strip off his clothing, and fuck all the bad memories out of both of their heads. Unfortunately, there wasn’t time for that.
Time. Such a confusing concept, really. It was like fate: it could treat you well or poorly. You could let it control you, or you could attempt to master it. And if you didn’t pay attention, it would always be there, shaping you. Changing you, sometimes.
“Where to?” asked Crow when they were out on the street.
“I’m not exactly sure. Avebury’s roughly ten miles from here, but I don’t think my parents actually lived there—just nearby. Let’s walk in that direction and see if I can get my bearings, yeah?”
As it turned out, a road only a block away would take them southwest all the way to Avebury if they wanted to walk that far. They followed the road through town to where the houses gave way to fields and hedgerows, and then they paused.
“Would be easier from the air,” Simeon noted .
“Do you want to be a bird? I can try to follow you on the ground.”
Simeon shot him a grateful look. “Nah. Don’t want to be separated from you unless it’s necessary.”
They continued down the road. Simeon was glad it was summer and that the weather was good and the day long. There were still a couple hours of sunlight left to them.
“I wonder if farming’s much different here compared to back home,” Crow mused. “I mean, no tractors yet, of course. But I bet you still have to worry about lots of the same things. Weather, animals getting sick, crop prices, machinery breaking.”
“Would you fancy living out here in the countryside with me? Once we manage Bran, of course.”
“I’ll live wherever you want. To be honest, I’m kinda missing the twentieth century, and I’m sorry I didn’t get another chance to see Helen and Jamie. But I don’t regret giving up all that for you.”
Nobody was in sight so Simeon risked it: he tugged Crow close and gave him a sloppy kiss. Then they continued on their way. The truth was, Simeon missed the twentieth century as well. He liked cars and air conditioning and hot showers. And he liked America, with its vast landscapes. And the food! When would he again taste pepperoni pizza or pad thai? London didn’t truly feel like home anymore. He wanted more space, air he could breathe, a clear sky to fly in. But his only honest employment for many years had been with the carnival, and he didn’t know what he’d do with himself in a little village or on a farm.
Those were problems to be faced later.
The next time he paused, he felt Bran not too far away. It was a tug different from the one he got with Crow, but just as discernible. If he concentrated, it was as if he and Bran were at opposite ends of a stretched elastic band. All Simeon had to do was let go and they’d reunite.
“It’s about four miles more,” said Simeon. Then he remembered that Crow had recently been stabbed. “Can you walk that far?”
“I’m fine. It’s a nice place for a stroll. Pretty country.”
It was. Sometimes the road curved a bit, as if it were in no hurry to reach a destination. The terrain was mostly flat, but low mounds rose in the distance. He didn’t think all of those mounds were of natural origin.
Not long before joining the carnival, Simeon had attended a lecture in London. He couldn’t afford the entrance fee but had flirted a bit with the bloke at the door, and that had been enough to get him inside. His primary goals had been to get out of the cold rain and to see whether he could pick some pockets among the audience members. As it turned out, however, the lecture itself had proved interesting. The professor was surprisingly young and had enthusiastically spoken about people who’d lived in Britain many thousands of years before. They’d left standing stones and timber circles, they’d built earthwork henges, they’d carved chalk figures into hillsides, and they’d piled the earth into enormous mounds, the purpose of which was now unknown.
He remembered what Miss Lachance had said at the pub: in old places, time gets tangled up. This region, he suspected, was very old indeed.
“I wonder what my ancestors were doing,” he mused out loud.
“When?”
“When the locals were building Stonehenge and the like.”
“Maybe they were helping. Seems to me it would be easier to map out something like that if some birds were taking aerial views of the site. ”
Simeon grinned. “I like that.”
As if summoned by the discussion, a flock of several dozen black birds descended from a nearby copse, wheeling and calling raucously before landing in the field nearby.
“Are they…?” Crow asked, pointing with his chin.
“Just ordinary rooks, I expect. Not two-natured.” But they certainly seemed interested in him and Crow, their dark eyes trained on them. Here in the bright sun, their feathers gleamed gold and purple, as if they’d been dipped in oil.
“D’ya know what a flock of rooks is called?” Simeon asked quietly.
“I know it’s a murder of crows and an unkindness of ravens, but I thought a bunch of rooks is a rookery.”
“A rookery is where they nest. But the flock’s called a parliament.” Simeon had found a book on corvids during their travels, and he’d read up. “They’re called that because sometimes they’ll gather in a circle around one or more of their kind—like a trial, yeah?—and then attack and kill. Nobody seems to know why, although there are theories that they’re weeding out sick or injured birds.”
Crow squinted at them. “Well, considering that my namesakes are considered omens of death, who am I to judge?”
“That’s what they tried to do to me and Bran, didn’t they? Kill the ones who were endangering the flock.”
“I guess. Doesn’t mean I forgive them, though. You were their children.”
Simeon rubbed his chin. “I forgive them, though. Maybe it was their nature, or maybe they just chose poorly. But they did love us. I saw that myself. I can thank Bran for that, at any rate.”
Crow glowered mightily. “I definitely don’t forgive him .”
Fair enough. Simeon turned and addressed the rooks. “I can find him myself, but you’re welcome to join us.”
That excited the birds, who took off with a chorus of nasal croaks and then whirled above them in an aerial ballet that even the Flying Galliers would have envied. Simeon was tempted to join them. Even if they weren’t quite like him, there was a kinship that he yearned for. But now wasn’t the time.
“Time,” he muttered to himself.
Half a mile ahead, a tiny unpaved lane turned off the main road to the right. It was deeply grooved into the earth, suggesting it had existed for a very long time. Simeon could nearly picture endless generations of feet, wheels, and hooves treading there—and generations of wings above. Aside from the lane, the fields, the rooks, and some trees, there was nothing in sight. The sun was near to the horizon ahead of them, coloring the sky in oranges and pinks and casting odd shadows.
“This,” Crow said as they traipsed along, “is like the beginning of about a hundred horror movies. I feel like at any minute, some sinister prehistoric creature is going to appear and sacrifice us to ancient gods.”
“Love, you and I are the prehistoric creatures.”
Crow’s laughter was echoed by the rooks. “You’re right. That definitely cheers me up.”
As they walked, Crow described a film about a pair of Americans who get attacked by a werewolf while backpacking in England. “It’s a comedy. And sort of a romance. And it has some great songs.”
“Sounds lovely.” Simeon bumped his shoulder into Crow’s.
“Yep. But, you know, werewolves. More two-natured folks, maybe. But the stories are never very sympathetic to them. They’re almost always monsters.”
Simeon thought about this for a bit. “‘Monster’ is used for loads of things that people don’t understand.”
“I bet Freud would say that’s projection—people displacing their own worst qualities onto anyone who’s different.”
As the light continued to fade, Simeon realized they’d been going up a gentle rise. When they reached the top, he looked down upon a cluster of a dozen or so buildings, with smaller houses scattered in the fields around them. It was difficult to make out any details in the darkness, but Simeon’s heart gave a painful wrench. “I know this place.”
Surely he had been too young to remember anything when he was taken away. His familiarity probably came from the false memories Bran had inflicted on him. But whatever the source of his knowledge, it sat full and secure inside him. The Thames and the London smog were parts of him, but so was this place. “This was home,” he said quietly.
Crow, who understood because of his similar connections with Chinkapin Grove, brushed a thumb tenderly along Simeon’s cheek.
“Our house was there.” Simeon pointed. “A bit away from the center of things. We had a little stone-and-timber cottage, with my father’s smithy attached to the back. The forge kept the house warm in winter. When he worked, you’d hear the clang of metal resounding like a song beat.” He was not going to cry.
“If it wasn’t for that fucking prophecy—” Crow said.
“I wouldn’t have met you.” Simeon caught Crow’s hand and kissed the knuckles. “Wouldn’t trade you for all of this.”
It was time. They needed to move before they lost the light altogether.