"You know you don't have to glue yourself to my side all the time, right?"
Silent remained firmly in contact with Arthur's ribs, a faint smirk providing his only answer. Several days of following Arthur around had greatly boosted Silent's confidence, but that did not mean Arthur enjoyed when the younger boy's shoulder remained pointedly in the way of his elbow.
He could hardly request the boy give him some space, however, so Arthur heaved an exaggerated sigh.
"Make yourself productive, then, and carry this."
The small shoulder digging into his side lessened briefly, then returned as Arthur stacked several loaves of bread in Silent's waiting arms.
"Thank you. Now I can dig through this bin real quick." That also gave him a minute's movement without the shoulder in his way.
Provided this did not cause a problem. He boosted himself to the edge of the oversized bin but looked back before crawling inside. "Are you gonna be alright out here for a minute?"
The boy tilted his head thoughtfully, then gave a single nod. A gesture followed to request Arthur hurry.
"I will," he promised. "Kick the bin or something if you need me."
Another nod, then Silent put his back against the metal to watch the many people passing on the main street. Arthur cleared the edge to start digging through the pile of rubbish. This area always had useful stuff. What had they thrown away today?
Trash. Broken. Rotten. Oh, large scrap of canvas. They could use that.
He checked where Silent still stood, then dropped the scrap a few feet away.
Rotten. Trash. More trash. What even was that?
He had no idea, but a heavy jacket lay beneath it. The mystery item clattered down the pile to let him examine the jacket.
Thick, sturdy fabric. Child sized. Almost new except for a large tear in the sleeve, but they could fix that. When a thorough search found nothing truly wrong with it, he dropped it next to the canvas. Anything else?
Just a few scattered pieces of newsprint. Nothing they could use, and a moment's climb deposited him back on the ground.
"Alright, let's go."
Draping canvas and jacket over one arm and taking a few loaves in the other, he wound through alleys and side streets back to their courtyard. Several days at home helping Silent had made Arthur jump at the chance to do the bakery round, and he had thoroughly enjoyed the last few hours spent looping through their various contacts. He had never appreciated spending such a long stretch of time trapped at home. Maybe he would introduce Silent to cartography tomorrow.
An elbow purposely bumped his hip. He looked down to see Silent tilting his head in a wordless question.
His brother's stunned amazement made the many hours spent learning that magic trick worth it. Only Father and bedtime finally put a stop to the boy's many questions.
No. Not relevant, as Mr. Holmes would say, but Arthur still needed a full second to push the memory away.
"Sorry, what did you ask?"
The boy looked up and down the street as if confused.
"Where are we? Or where are we going?"
He shook his head, then nodded.
"Home now. Tim needs at least some of the bread for tonight's supper, and Jones might be able to fix the sleeve on this jacket. It's about the right size for one of the littles."
That nod meant something like alright, but Silent clearly focused on a different part of Arthur's reply. Thin lips faintly moved to form the word.
Home.
The pleasure flickering across the boy's face hurt Arthur to see. Silent should not so completely expect to be cast aside. The others had welcomed him into the group the moment he followed Arthur from that shadowed corner, never asking him to talk even as they started learning his gestures, and Arthur had seen him join the counting and reading lessons at least once. Half the courtyard understood most of his wordless questions by now.
Though Arthur had found himself the most fluent. Something about Silent's expressions and gestures just made sense. They did not need words for Arthur to decipher it eventually.
They did need time, however. Arthur sometimes needed three or four guesses to hit on the correct topic, and even then, he could not always be sure he got more than close enough. "Talking" with Silent used every bit of deductive skill Mr. Holmes had taught him over the years. While better than watching the boy huddle in a far corner, Arthur wished he could find a way to convince Silent to open up a bit more. The boy had all but confirmed that something non-physical prevented him from talking. Something had happened years ago to make the boy resolve to stay quiet. If Arthur could figure out what that had been, he might gain a non-so-silent Silent. He might even learn the boy's name.
Though he would learn that soon enough anyway. Silent had promised to tell them as soon as he could write it, and they spent over an hour every evening slowly learning the alphabet—what sounds each letter made and how to write them. The boy had shown intense interest in the letters "e" and "n." They would find the rest soon enough.
Laughter drifted down the alley to snap Arthur out of his thoughts, and they dodged through the scattered pallets from the closest shop before ducking beneath the debris hiding their archway. An extended hand ensured Silent did not lose his balance with the more awkward load.
"Young menace. You're gonna get hurt following me around like that."
No. He did not have time for that. Not with food to deliver and Silent's lesson to start. A practiced effort nudged the memory aside for later as he paused just inside the door, scanning faces.
"There he is. They are," he corrected when he saw Jones nearby. "Com'on."
Rapid steps quickly took him across the courtyard, Silent not far behind as they aimed for their two leaders against the far wall. Tim and Jones looked up at Arthur's approach.
"I was just thinking you must be on your way back," Tim said with a grin. "Looks like you got a good haul."
"I'm pretty sure Little Jones put a couple of fresh loaves in the bin today on accident," Arthur replied as Beth hurried over to take the food. "I couldn't find him to ask, though. We'll have a bit of a treat."
Tim's smile widened. "That happened a couple of days ago, too. I bet the doctor just happened to mention us having a bunch of littles right now. You know he and Mr. Holmes custom Little Jones a lot."
Yes, he did, but a small hand tugged his sleeve to interrupt his agreement. Silent held up five fingers on his right hand then sketched a backwards question mark. That was much easier to decipher than the last time he had tried to ask what a word meant.
"Custom means giving business. If Mr. Holmes buys bread from Little Jones' bakery, he customs Little Jones' shop and is his customer."
Understanding appeared as a nod accepted that. Arthur looked back up to find Tim grinning widely.
"What?"
"You're good with him," Tim answered. "I had no idea what that meant."
Arthur released a quiet laugh. "I had help. The last time he tried to ask about a word, it took forever for me just to understand the question, then we had to go through the last sentence one word at a time. I finally explained how writing works and told him to use his left hand for the start of the sentence and his right for the end."
Tim's smile merely widened. "That just proves my point." He gestured toward the coat before Arthur could find a reply. "What else did you find?"
"Some scrap canvas and a jacket for one of the littles." Tim took the canvas to let Arthur unfold the coat. "It has a tear on one sleeve, but I thought you might be able to fix it, Jones. Several of the younger ones still don't have anything."
Tim's second turned the fabric this way and that, probably comparing the damage to whatever supplies he still had. "Yeah, I think I can. Especially if Mrs. Hudson gives me a little of that heavy thread she mentioned last week."
Apparently finished with whatever had captured his attention before Arthur arrived, Jones sidestepped the current counting class to head for his bag propped against one wall. If Arthur gauged the damage correctly, Jones would need two rounds of stitches—smaller thread for inside the sleeve and the coarse stuff on the outside. They would have a new jacket soon enough.
"Need anything else from me, Tim?"
"Nope, and I think your shadow wants to get back to his private lessons." An eager nod made them both laugh. "Come find me at supper," Tim requested as Silent tried to lead Arthur to their corner. "Lily's wanting a miniature map of London's streets, and if she doesn't find something at the library, I thought she might see if you could make it."
That sounded fun, but Silent tugged his sleeve before he could voice a question. One finger pointed to where they usually studied.
"I'm coming," Arthur promised. "Get the journal and pencil if you like. I'll be there in a moment."
The boy hesitated only briefly before choosing a cautious path along one wall, to Arthur's surprise. What about today's lesson would so interest him?
He would find out soon enough, and he forced himself to focus on Tim. "How much detail?"
"Just the major streets," Tim assured him. "Maybe a few landmarks. She and Beth want to start teaching the littles how to get around the city, but some of the youngest still aren't quite ready to venture out of the courtyard. This'll give them that general layout without pushing them too far too fast."
Fun and a good idea. They should have thought of that before.
"Yeah, I can do that. We just need to find the paper. I don't think it'd take long to transfer from my big one."
"That's what I figured." Betty toddled past, intent on George's half-finished forge in the corner. Arthur moved to catch up with Silent as Tim chased their resident two-year-old.
The boy moved slowly toward their spot, most of his focus on the group playing nearby. While even the youngest ones knew to watch for bystanders, experience had taught everyone to be on guard when the toys appeared. More than one little had nearly caused an accident when playtime got carried away.
As proven by young Macy. The girl chased after a bouncing ball with the reckless abandon typical in most of their littles, but Silent saw the problem before Arthur could voice a warning. He apparently never noticed something fall out of his pocket when he kicked the ball back to its owner.
Arthur picked up his pace, stopping the small item's uneven roll with his toe. If Silent deemed the toy important enough to carry around, he probably did not want to lose it here, but the words to alert him of the loss died in Arthur's throat.
Made of wood, careful markings and that strangely tall hat declared this toy soldier part of the King's Guard. Numerous dents covered the soldier, from the chipped hat to the missing toe of one boot, but the arm gave the most history.
The guard's arm had been chewed on by a very small mouth. Budding teeth had dented the wood up and down the guard's sleeve, and a disbelieving check found a familiar mark on the guard's foot.
"Why do you always put that? It's just a toy."
That wonderful laugh answered him. Arthur always wanted to join his father's contagious laugh.
"Because I put it on everything I make in the shop," he answered, one hand mussing Arthur's hair as the other passed the requested replacement soldier. "I guess it's just a habit by now."
No. Not possible. How could Silent have the toy Arthur had given his brother so many years ago?
Unless—
"Everything?"
"Yes, Arthur. Everything. If you ever see that mark on someone's wooden toy, piece of furniture, or anything else, it means I made it. We carpenters are careful not to repeat anyone's mark."
"Owen?"
The boy stilled, then spun so quickly that Arthur distantly wondered how he had not made himself dizzy. Wide eyes stared as Arthur held up the small toy.
"You…" Breathless surprise made the word trail away. If Silent was—
"I gave this to my brother when he was teething," he started instead. He could not risk saying the wrong thing, but slow steps took him steadily closer. "He wouldn't stop crying, and I was tired. Tired of listening to it. Tired of hearing him hurt. Tired. So I gave him my soldier. They usually made me feel better." A faint grin tried to escape. "You—he immediately put it in his mouth, which I didn't like, but the crying stopped. By the time Father returned that night, small teeth and gums had dented the arm to the point I no longer wanted the toy, so I asked Father to make me a new one."
Several voices nearby quieted as they realized something was happening. Arthur paid them no mind. Silent—the boy merely stared at him.
"You—He clung to that toy. Took it everywhere. Once even made us turn around to go back and get it, but I didn't know you had it with you that night until I looked for it at home and couldn't find it."
No reply. Arthur swallowed and forced himself to continue. He had not purposely thought of this in years.
"You were kidnapped when you were three. We were hiding in the railyard because Mum and Father were trying to distract the men that had attacked us. They found us anyway. Took you out of my arms. I ran after you for ages, but I couldn't keep up. I couldn't keep up, and I didn't know where Father was. You disappeared into the trains, still screaming for me."
Tears welled in those big eyes, but he still made no answer. Arthur forced himself to stop several feet away. If he was wrong, he did not want to make the boy uncomfortable.
He did not think he was wrong.
"Is your name Owen?"
Nothing, for a terrifying moment, then Owen gave a single nod.
Yes.
"Are you—" He allowed one more step. "Are you the same Owen that used to crawl into my bed during a thunderstorm?"
Another long moment. Another nod.
Yes.
Only extreme effort kept both feet firmly on the ground. "Are you going to get over here and give your brother a hug?"
Arthur had not noticed the fear take over, but he saw it dissipate. Owen lunged across the cobblestones to wrap small arms tightly around Arthur's middle, and only then did he think to kneel. Owen followed him down, refusing to let go until he could move his embrace to Arthur's neck. Soundless tears soaked his shoulder.
"I have you now," Arthur promised softly, "and I'm not letting you go again. I didn't want to the first time. I hope you know that."
Water smeared Arthur's shirt at the wet nod. Good. Bad enough his seven-year-old self had been unable to protect his little brother. At least Owen remembered that Arthur had tried. He readjusted to let Owen crawl into his lap.
"I never thought I'd see you again." His own grip tightened. "I didn't even recognize my baby brother. We're gonna teach you how to write, and then I want to know everything. Please?"
Owen tensed but relaxed just as quickly. While a nod answered Arthur's question, something suggested Owen debated a question of his own. Arthur let the silence stretch.
"Came back."
The words hit like a fist, answering every question of Owen's silence. Their parents had left them in that hollow with the order not to make a sound. While Owen had understandably screamed when those men had grabbed him, he must have decided to remain silent later, when Arthur could not follow. Nearly eight years had not changed that resolve.
He had always known his little brother was stubborn.
"I will always come back for you. Would have been searching this whole time if I had even the slightest idea of where to look. Mum and Father looked for so long, but even the police couldn't find you. Where were you before the Haven?"
A shake of his head denied answer. Owen was not yet ready to talk about that, but he leaned away to direct his next question at Arthur instead of Arthur's shirt.
"Mum and Father?"
Dead and in Bedlam, respectively. Owen did not need to know what his kidnapping had done to their parents. Not yet.
"Gone. They're gone. Have been for years." The distance left his arms feeling rather empty. Arthur's hands landed gently on his brother's—his brother's—shoulders. "The Irregulars found me less than a year after you were taken." He squeezed, just slightly. "I will tell you all about it, everything from running away to how we found that den of horror, but I want to hear your story too. Can we put off the alphabet lessons for today?"
Owen's tremulous smile suggested a hidden facet Arthur had not caught. "Letters to find name."
He could not restrain a laugh, which made Owen laugh as well.
"Alright, you menace. How about we swap stories around the second half of the alphabet? One of your letters comes at the very end, so you might need some time to spell your name."
Arthur half-expected Owen to have forgotten the nickname he had used so long ago, but that smile only grew. Quick movements pulled his brother around to ride on his back, and he stood to find thirty-odd kids studiously silencing their excitement. Wary of startling the boy, they still said nothing as Tim walked closer, discarded toy soldier in hand.
"I think you dropped something."
Owen shifted, then small fingers reclaimed the toy.
"Thank you."
Whispered or not, that made two more words than Owen had yet given to anyone but his brother. Tim replied with a wide grin.
"Of course. I suppose the two of you probably aren't joining my table for supper?"
Arthur cast a curious look at his brother, who simply shrugged. "We'll see. The map can wait til morning."
Owen could not, though the comment made Tim's spreading pleasure far more mischievous. "Never thought I'd hear you say a map could wait, but I get it. The next one to see Mr. Holmes or the doctor can tell them, as well."
"No, let us tell them." Arthur's own mischief broke free. "Mr. Holmes' deducing should have recognized two full brothers. I wanna see his reaction when he realizes just what he missed."
Several laughed at that, but Tim waved an assent. Arthur hefted his brother a touch higher on their way to the far corner. Perhaps he could persuade Owen to share his story first.
After all, they would have plenty of time for Arthur to reciprocate. He never wanted to lose his brother again.
Don't forget to drop a review, and thanks to MHC1987 for your review last chapter :)
Just to let everyone know, I will have limited internet for the next week or so, AND I have an absolutely Bedlamite landlady that might make me move soon after. So I will see all my wonderful readers on the 25th at least, even if that is simply a chapter and a longer hiatus alert. I still have plenty of stories in the queue, so no fear of me disappearing for long :)
