3 - The Pevensie Paradox

The Singhs' quarters barely passed for living space. Cramped, it consisted of a crude kitchen table and a tiny cast iron stove, with cots separated from the eating space by a worn blanket hung for a curtain. As a soldier, Aedan had seen rougher living, but it always made him feel vaguely guilty and simultaneously grateful for the finery he enjoyed when he was at Cair Paravel.

Thoughts of home brought him back to the main problem.

He tossed back a cup of weak beer and wished fervently for something stronger. This was London, to be sure, but not the London of his father's youth. What possible reason could Aslan have to call him from Narnia to a London an entire generation prior to that of his aunts and uncle?

Had Aslan done it, or was something more nefarious at work?

His grandparents would be here, Aedan realized with a start, but no more than children at this time. They would be unable to help him, and even if they could, he hesitated to do anything that might alter future events and, indeed, his own existence. Even his being here might damage his chances at getting home.

He stared into the empty cup.

"More?" Maira asked, putting a hand on the pitcher.

"No," he said, though he half wanted to down the rest of that little clay jug. He studied the girl, with her copper skin, her sleek black hair knotted behind her head, and her large, dark eyes skittering anywhere but at him. "Tell me about your father."

"Onveer Singh. A sailor, and a dockworker when he isn't aboard a ship. He should be home soon," she repeated as if by rote. He'd asked her before.

Aedan nodded patiently, not buying her calm demeanor. Something passed through those dark, heavily lashed eyes. "And your mother?"

Her gaze landed on him at last, defiant, ferocious. "Dead. Seven years ago, when Farhan was born."

Regret pinched at Aedan. "I am sorry." Softer, he added, "What was she like?"

"Beautiful," Maira said. A smile spread across her lips. Candlelight reflected in her eyes, now gone soft and intriguing. "She loved the sea. That's how she and Father met."

Aedan gave a soft laugh.

A little line appeared between the girl's brows. "What's funny about that?"

"Nothing," he admitted, still smiling. "I'm a soldier. A landlubber." He raised an eyebrow, amused by the irritation on Maira's face. "Do you share that love of the water?"

"I don't have much time for more than the occasional paper boat race in the park. Work keeps me and … and Farhan busy." Her voice fell. After a moment, she gave him a direct, appraising stare. "If you aren't from Buckingham Palace, where do you belong?"

He laughed again. His entire life, he'd been on one military mission or the next. Always moving, moving, moving. Never belonging anywhere except, in some distant future, the throne of Cair Paravel.

Certainly not something he could mention to a stranger from London.

Aedan shrugged. "If I'm to get where I belong, I need to speak to Digory Kirke. He'll be at … Oxford, I think you call it?"

Maira snorted, then laughed, a surprisingly merry sound in the little space.

"What's so funny?"

"Oxford is over fifty miles away. Do you think I can magically transport us there?"

He stifled a grimace at the irony, then pushed back his stool to stand. "Where can I find a map?"

"Why?"

"I promised my help in finding your brother," he said, "but then I must find this Kirke. I won't trouble you to go with me."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You are an odd one. What's your given name?"

"Pevensie," he said with a bow. He nearly reached for her hand as he did so, as he would with any lady, but stopped himself. No doubt she already considered him a madman. No reason to add fuel to the fire.

"If we're to find your brother," Aedan added, "we shouldn't wait for your father any longer. When someone goes missing, the longer you wait, the colder the trail gets." Struck by an idea, he pointed to the curtained area and asked, "Which is Farhan's cot?"

Maira pushed back from the table to get to her feet. "The smallest, in the corner. Why?"

Aedan stalked toward the blanket curtain, pushing it aside without waiting for permission.

Maira made a soft noise of consternation. "What are you doing?"

"Looking for clues," he said, pretending to shake out the blankets of the tiny cot in search of an object, when in reality he did so to waft the scent up to his nose.

Grubby, he determined with half a smile. The little ruffian was probably as loath to bathe and as fond of mud as his young cousins. Under that, he caught a whiff of sweetness—candy, he guessed—and under that, he sorted out the scent that set the boy apart from anyone else. Now that he'd identified it, Aedan was certain he could separate that signature from any other he ran across in this strange city. Being half a werewolf had certain advantages.

"How is any of this going to help you find my brother?" Maira asked.

"You'd be surprised." He righted the covers to their original state, then took another breath. Two other scent signatures reached him: that of Maira, sweet and carrying an undertone of leather dye, and a saltier scent that must be Onveer's. "Show me where he disappeared."

She nodded, and brought him to a cobbled street a short distance from her home. "I saw the carriage h-hit him," she said, her voice faltering. "I fell there"—she pointed to a dugout—"and when I woke, he and the carriage were gone."

Aedan crossed into the street, then crouched to study the cobbles. Farhan's scent was there, criss-crossed over with many other odors. Walking in a half-crouch, Aedan circled the area, but Farhan's scent was nowhere else.

He straightened. "He must have been carried out by carriage."

"I've checked everywhere. The hospitals, the houses and shops. No one has seen him," Maira said. She swayed a little where she stood.

Aedan returned to her side. "You're exhausted. You should sit a moment and rest."

"I can't. Not until we find him," she said.

"Is there anything, anything else at all that you can tell me?" Aedan asked.

Something flashed through her dark eyes in the glow of the gaslamps, easily readable to his werewolf eyes. Visible even if the change in her scent hadn't echoed it.

Guilt.

He stiffened. "Maira. I cannot help you unless I know everything. What are you not saying?"

She reached into her pocket, then came out with a fisted hand.

Aedan tensed.

Her eyes glimmered with unshed tears. "There was a peddler. I asked him to help me. I don't even know what happened, because he made me say the words … and then he was gone." She opened her hand.

In her palm was a ruby, set in gold, and beside it, a bound lock of his hair.