Fourteen: Mrs Nesbit
"Dead," said Magneto, and the picture flopped onto his desk in front
of her. "Drowned," another picture. "And left for the elements," a
third.
Raven picked them up and pretended disinterest. He was about three
years old in the photograph, but unmistakably her son. "He looks a lot
like him." He was eating a cruller that happened to be wider than his
head with every sign of enjoyment.
"He *is* him, Mystique," Magneto rumbled. "The odds against a mutant
like this being born to a normal family are astronomical in the first
place. The odds against him being born almost exactly like your son are
simply *so* large that they're not odds at all."
Raven remained impassive. "You'll not go near him again," she said.
"You lied to me," said Magneto. "He could have been my greatest
triumph, and you took that from me."
"You took my son," she argued. "And you won't take him again."
"You *dare* give me orders?" Magneto raised an eyebrow. Metal objects
around him danced. The chair Raven sat on began to twitch. "You owe your
alliegance to *me*, not the other way around. I can squash you like an
insect."
"But you don't," said Mystique. "Because I'm useful to you. I can go
anywhere. My son would stick out like a sore thumb. He is no use to
you."
"*Now*, he's no use to me. You know about my experiments with young
mutants that have proven successful."
"Yes. So successful you had to throw your daughter into an assylum,
and give your son to another family," Mystique purred. "Cross me, and I
can hurt them beyond any imagining."
Magneto kept his poker face on. "Now, now, Mystique," he soothed.
"There's no need for threats. We can come up with a - more suitable
arrangement."
"I'm listening."
"What would you give," said Magneto, "for one day with your son?"
Kurti was scared. Whenever Herr Weiss said he had someone for Kurti to
meet, it was always bad news. The people Herr Weiss wanted him to meet
were - well - kind-of sick.
It was the only way Kurti could describe it. These people saw a little
demon and expected him to act like one when they got him to themselves,
and wanted him to do disgusting things with them. They had to have
caught something that made them sick in the mind, to want to do things
like that with - or to - a child.
Most of them got upset when he inevitably wound up crying for his
Mama.
The worst thing was that they looked normal, everyday people on the
outside. He would probably ask them for directions if he ever
encountered them on the street.
Kurti went silent and limp over Herr Weiss' shoulder. Struggling got him
hit. Complaining got him hit. Talking - well, just about anything except
doing exactly what they wanted - got him hit.
"Here he is, Frau," the man juggled Kurti in his arms. "The blue
wonder. Die Fleidertuefel. Yours for a mere five hundred marks a night."
He was talking to her in English. Not that it mattered. Kurti spoke
several languages. Some of which were actually useful in the world
Outside.
"Does he have a name?" the rich lady - they were mostly rich ladies -
reached out and petted his fur.
"His parents call him Kurt, but he'll answer to anything, won't you,
Herr Flockig?"
Kurti sighed. "Jawohl, mein Herr." He could be thankful it wasn't a
rich man. They sometimes hurt him. As long as the marks didn't show, his
price remained unchanged. It cost a lot to come up with an excuse for
marks.
The lady took him into her arms. She actually held him as if he were a
child, and not a bag of chaff. She focussed on his face and watched his
eyes. "Do you speak English, Kurt?"
"Ja," he said, and added, "I do speak some English." _Careful. Play
dumb. They like dumb._
She kissed him on the forehead and asked, "How much for twenty-four
hours?"
Herr Weiss didn't even pause. "That's a thousand marks. Up front."
_This is *weird*..._ Kurti watched as she took out the money and handed
it over. Herr Weiss was treating him like a thing. Kurti was used to
that. But the lady was treating him like a person. It was like walking
on shaky ground.
He didn't know what she wanted from him.
She took him away from the troupe, towards an expensive car. There was
a child seat in the back, which she buckled him into.
They'd all just let him roam around the back, before.
"Comfortable?" she asked.
Kurti put his tail along his right leg. "Ja. I'm okay..." He was
nervous. He knew it, but he was sure that the lady wouldn't know what
his tail wrapping around things would mean.
"My name is Mrs Nesbit," she said. "Did they tell you why I wanted
you?"
Kurti shook his head.
"I suppose they have the same story, but mine's true. I had a little
boy once. He was a lot like you. I - lost him. Soon after he was born."
A tear trailed down her face. "I still miss him."
The car started, and drove away from the carnival grounds. Kurti didn't
watch the troupe fade into the scenery, this time. This time, he was
fascinated by Mrs Nesbit.
"He would have been six years old," she said. "I've been looking that
long, for another special little boy. Just to hold him. Treat him as my
son. Just for one day."
Kurti thought about his birth mother. The mother who'd put him on the
Wagner's back doorstep about six years ago, and knocked, and ran away,
into the unknown. Did she miss him? Did she know where he was? Did she
blow a kiss out a window every night for God to take to him, like he did
for her? Was she even looking?
"Did he have a name?" Kurti asked.
Mrs Nesbit seemed surprised that he spoke. "I - he was too young. I
hadn't come up with a name that fit him." She hid her face in her hands,
and cried.
"I'm sorry, Frau. I didn't mean to make you cry..." emboldened, he
reached out and patted her arm.
"I'd been thinking of Michael," she said, chasing water from her eyes.
"But - Michael wasn't *right*."
"I'm adopted," Kurti blurted. "I don't know who my real mother is.
Maybe - maybe I could pretend like *you're* my mother?"
She smiled. "Would you? Just for one day?"
"Ja, I would. You seem real nice and everything. Er. What do I call
you, Frau?"
"Just 'Mom' will do."
"Mowm," he said, trying to get the American accent right.
"Mom," she corrected, laughing.
"Mowm," Kurti giggled. It turned into a game.
Mrs Nesbit - Mom for short - lived in a huge confection of a castle
that all Kurti's favourite fairytale characters would have been happy to
live in. Her one servant, a man called Erik who had white hair and an
impressive physique, followed her orders with a raised eyebrow and an
ironic smile.
The place was enormous, but empty.
Mom showed him the playroom - a huge place filled with every toy Kurti
could have dreamed. All put aside for a dead son. In a way, it was
really sad, but Kurti understood that Mom needed a happy day, today; so
he leaped into the room with a gleesome cry and tried everything out.
She played with him, and wound up spending a lot of time just touching
him, just like Mama did when she'd missed him.
There were lots of cuddles.
At lunchtime, Kurti was treated to all the food he could eat.
Everything he liked and a few American delicacies as well. He especially
liked the 'hoagies' and the 'brownies' the best, and crammed himself so
full that he had to lie down for a whole hour.
Mom curled up next to him and read him fairy tales and gently cuddled
him, occasionally fixing his hair with a delicate touch.
After lunch, he taught her a little tumbling on the trampoline, and
showed off his act on a wire that Erik strung across the playroom. Mom
eventually got around to laughing, instead of worrying about him, when
he demonstrated how he could cling to the wire - upside-down - by his
toes.
"Don't worry, Mom," he chirped, walking the wire in his special,
inverted way. "Me an' gravity got a special deal. I can stick to just
'bout anything."
Erik was looking at him funny.
"Watch how I get back up," Kurti said, and started to swing. At a
certain point, he let go with his toes, turned about, and caught it with
his hands. Then, he simply pulled himself up and walked the wire as
anyone else would.
Mom applauded and cheered. Erik continued to stare for a while before
he joined in.
There was a game of chase, before dinnertime, where Kurti gambolled
about and Mom and Erik labored to keep up. Kurti showed off, tumbling
and leaping about as he laughed out, "Can't catch me"s at them. And they
couldn't catch him. He was faster than them and, thanks to his spring-
loaded legs, could easily leap twice their height.
Finally, he let Mom catch him and tickle him into submission,
finishing with a hug that he wished he could share with his real mother.
If only for one day.
Dinner was as big a feast as lunch, full of American Thanksgiving
treats like Turkey and Pumpkin Pie and Clam Chowder.
His stomach pleasantly full, Kurti let Mom bathe him and brush him,
then dress him for bed. She told him stories until he couldn't keep his
eyes open any more, and he slept.
Kurti woke late, well past dawn, and hurriedly dressed. He only had a
few more hours to share with Mom and he wanted to make them the best.
Erik found him wandering the halls and took him down to the kitchen,
where a sleep-rumpled Mom yawned over coffee and pancakes - flapjacks to
her fellow Americans.
"Did you have a good day, yesterday?" Mom asked.
"It was the *best*, Mom," Kurti gave her a hug. "I'll remember it for
the rest of my life, I swear."
Erik offered waffles, scrambled eggs, bacon, hash browns, cereal
sausages and toast.
Kurti, of course, had a generous sampler and couldn't help purring at
his third slightly-overfull tummy in as many meals. Mama's cooking was
just as nice - maybe more so - but there were times when things were
thin and Kurti had to go a little bit hungry or fill up on water. It was
because of the thin times that Kurti had originally agreed to see the
people that Herr Weiss wanted him to meet.
He didn't really see an end to meeting Herr Weiss' 'friends', short of
something nasty happening to Herr Weiss; and just kept quiet about the
people and what they wanted.
Kurti chased those thoughts out of his head. Today was for happy
times. Mom needed the happy times. They'd fortify her when he had to go
back home and she was left alone in this huge and empty place.
With that thought in mind, he scootched his chair close to hers and
leaned on her.
Mom sighed and laid her arm around his shoulder.
"Tell me, Kurt," said Erik. "How long have you been able to jump
around like that and stick to walls?"
"Erik," Mom warned. "Don't be rude."
"I don't mind," said Kurti. "That's not nearly as rude as being asked
where I do and don't have fur."
"Well..." Mom allowed. "As long as *you're* okay with it, I guess..."
Kurti smiled. "I started as soon as I could," said Kurti. "Mama says I
used to crawl around on the *ceiling* if I was allowed to get out of my
playpen. She says I was better at escaping than Onkel Wolf. As for
jumping - as soon as I learned to, I could go *really* high. It scared
Mama a lot."
"Hmmm..." said Erik, and wandered of frowning and mumbling to himself.
"Don't mind Erik," said Mom. "He's gotten a little eccentric, lately.
He's full of these little quirks."
Breakfast done with, Kurti washed and brushed again, with Mom's help,
and launched straight into a last few hours' play once he was properly
dressed.
Time, however, wasn't on their side, and too soon, the toys had to be
put back where they came from.
Finally, Mom sat on a chair and placed Kurti on her lap. For a photo
to remember him by.
Kurti made his best smile for the camera, and Erik got him to watch a
squeaky puppet. There was some other noise behind him, but before he
could look, the flash popped and blinded him.
Kurti blinked away the light's shadow from his eyes as Erik tidied the
camera away and Mom gave him a few more cuddles and kisses while they
waited for the car to be ready.
Once again, he was strapped into a safety seat. Mom was sad, but it
was more a wistful sadness, and she kept petting Kurti's arm. He let
her, since she obviously needed to do it.
When they returned to the circus grounds, Mom pressed a little object
into his palm. "This is for you, Kurti, dear. It'll help keep you safe."
Kurti gave her one last hug. "Thank you, Mom."
"Goodbye," she whispered.
Erik helped him out of the car and shooed him on his way.
Kurti looked at his gift. It was a medallion of Saint Benedict of
Narsia. He'd keep it with the rest of his valued treasures.
Then he remembered. He had a Mama and Papa who were waiting for him,
and his sisters and his friends and aunts and uncles and - in brief -
his whole tribe.
Kurti ran towards the trailers and wagons. Towards his home.
Inside the rented limousine, Raven reverted back to her true shape and
clutched a locket to her chest. Inside it was a single lock of her son's
hair. She wouldn't wear it. She couldn't. If she had to shapeshift into
a small animal, it would be lost.
Raven couldn't afford to lose such a valuable artifact.
That and the photograph would be all the physical evidence that she
could ever have that she'd spent one special day with her equally
special son.
Erik drove her back to the castle. To the toys she'd have to sell on,
now that there was no-one to play with them. "Manifestation of mutant
abilities during infant development," he said. "Amazing. Simply amazing.
And to think - I had nothing to do with it... He would have made a
*fantastic* subject."
"We had a deal," she hissed.
"Yes," said Erik. "I keep my hands off him - and so do you."
"I know," Raven's voice turned dead and she clasped the tiny locket to
her heart. "I know."
"Dead," said Magneto, and the picture flopped onto his desk in front
of her. "Drowned," another picture. "And left for the elements," a
third.
Raven picked them up and pretended disinterest. He was about three
years old in the photograph, but unmistakably her son. "He looks a lot
like him." He was eating a cruller that happened to be wider than his
head with every sign of enjoyment.
"He *is* him, Mystique," Magneto rumbled. "The odds against a mutant
like this being born to a normal family are astronomical in the first
place. The odds against him being born almost exactly like your son are
simply *so* large that they're not odds at all."
Raven remained impassive. "You'll not go near him again," she said.
"You lied to me," said Magneto. "He could have been my greatest
triumph, and you took that from me."
"You took my son," she argued. "And you won't take him again."
"You *dare* give me orders?" Magneto raised an eyebrow. Metal objects
around him danced. The chair Raven sat on began to twitch. "You owe your
alliegance to *me*, not the other way around. I can squash you like an
insect."
"But you don't," said Mystique. "Because I'm useful to you. I can go
anywhere. My son would stick out like a sore thumb. He is no use to
you."
"*Now*, he's no use to me. You know about my experiments with young
mutants that have proven successful."
"Yes. So successful you had to throw your daughter into an assylum,
and give your son to another family," Mystique purred. "Cross me, and I
can hurt them beyond any imagining."
Magneto kept his poker face on. "Now, now, Mystique," he soothed.
"There's no need for threats. We can come up with a - more suitable
arrangement."
"I'm listening."
"What would you give," said Magneto, "for one day with your son?"
Kurti was scared. Whenever Herr Weiss said he had someone for Kurti to
meet, it was always bad news. The people Herr Weiss wanted him to meet
were - well - kind-of sick.
It was the only way Kurti could describe it. These people saw a little
demon and expected him to act like one when they got him to themselves,
and wanted him to do disgusting things with them. They had to have
caught something that made them sick in the mind, to want to do things
like that with - or to - a child.
Most of them got upset when he inevitably wound up crying for his
Mama.
The worst thing was that they looked normal, everyday people on the
outside. He would probably ask them for directions if he ever
encountered them on the street.
Kurti went silent and limp over Herr Weiss' shoulder. Struggling got him
hit. Complaining got him hit. Talking - well, just about anything except
doing exactly what they wanted - got him hit.
"Here he is, Frau," the man juggled Kurti in his arms. "The blue
wonder. Die Fleidertuefel. Yours for a mere five hundred marks a night."
He was talking to her in English. Not that it mattered. Kurti spoke
several languages. Some of which were actually useful in the world
Outside.
"Does he have a name?" the rich lady - they were mostly rich ladies -
reached out and petted his fur.
"His parents call him Kurt, but he'll answer to anything, won't you,
Herr Flockig?"
Kurti sighed. "Jawohl, mein Herr." He could be thankful it wasn't a
rich man. They sometimes hurt him. As long as the marks didn't show, his
price remained unchanged. It cost a lot to come up with an excuse for
marks.
The lady took him into her arms. She actually held him as if he were a
child, and not a bag of chaff. She focussed on his face and watched his
eyes. "Do you speak English, Kurt?"
"Ja," he said, and added, "I do speak some English." _Careful. Play
dumb. They like dumb._
She kissed him on the forehead and asked, "How much for twenty-four
hours?"
Herr Weiss didn't even pause. "That's a thousand marks. Up front."
_This is *weird*..._ Kurti watched as she took out the money and handed
it over. Herr Weiss was treating him like a thing. Kurti was used to
that. But the lady was treating him like a person. It was like walking
on shaky ground.
He didn't know what she wanted from him.
She took him away from the troupe, towards an expensive car. There was
a child seat in the back, which she buckled him into.
They'd all just let him roam around the back, before.
"Comfortable?" she asked.
Kurti put his tail along his right leg. "Ja. I'm okay..." He was
nervous. He knew it, but he was sure that the lady wouldn't know what
his tail wrapping around things would mean.
"My name is Mrs Nesbit," she said. "Did they tell you why I wanted
you?"
Kurti shook his head.
"I suppose they have the same story, but mine's true. I had a little
boy once. He was a lot like you. I - lost him. Soon after he was born."
A tear trailed down her face. "I still miss him."
The car started, and drove away from the carnival grounds. Kurti didn't
watch the troupe fade into the scenery, this time. This time, he was
fascinated by Mrs Nesbit.
"He would have been six years old," she said. "I've been looking that
long, for another special little boy. Just to hold him. Treat him as my
son. Just for one day."
Kurti thought about his birth mother. The mother who'd put him on the
Wagner's back doorstep about six years ago, and knocked, and ran away,
into the unknown. Did she miss him? Did she know where he was? Did she
blow a kiss out a window every night for God to take to him, like he did
for her? Was she even looking?
"Did he have a name?" Kurti asked.
Mrs Nesbit seemed surprised that he spoke. "I - he was too young. I
hadn't come up with a name that fit him." She hid her face in her hands,
and cried.
"I'm sorry, Frau. I didn't mean to make you cry..." emboldened, he
reached out and patted her arm.
"I'd been thinking of Michael," she said, chasing water from her eyes.
"But - Michael wasn't *right*."
"I'm adopted," Kurti blurted. "I don't know who my real mother is.
Maybe - maybe I could pretend like *you're* my mother?"
She smiled. "Would you? Just for one day?"
"Ja, I would. You seem real nice and everything. Er. What do I call
you, Frau?"
"Just 'Mom' will do."
"Mowm," he said, trying to get the American accent right.
"Mom," she corrected, laughing.
"Mowm," Kurti giggled. It turned into a game.
Mrs Nesbit - Mom for short - lived in a huge confection of a castle
that all Kurti's favourite fairytale characters would have been happy to
live in. Her one servant, a man called Erik who had white hair and an
impressive physique, followed her orders with a raised eyebrow and an
ironic smile.
The place was enormous, but empty.
Mom showed him the playroom - a huge place filled with every toy Kurti
could have dreamed. All put aside for a dead son. In a way, it was
really sad, but Kurti understood that Mom needed a happy day, today; so
he leaped into the room with a gleesome cry and tried everything out.
She played with him, and wound up spending a lot of time just touching
him, just like Mama did when she'd missed him.
There were lots of cuddles.
At lunchtime, Kurti was treated to all the food he could eat.
Everything he liked and a few American delicacies as well. He especially
liked the 'hoagies' and the 'brownies' the best, and crammed himself so
full that he had to lie down for a whole hour.
Mom curled up next to him and read him fairy tales and gently cuddled
him, occasionally fixing his hair with a delicate touch.
After lunch, he taught her a little tumbling on the trampoline, and
showed off his act on a wire that Erik strung across the playroom. Mom
eventually got around to laughing, instead of worrying about him, when
he demonstrated how he could cling to the wire - upside-down - by his
toes.
"Don't worry, Mom," he chirped, walking the wire in his special,
inverted way. "Me an' gravity got a special deal. I can stick to just
'bout anything."
Erik was looking at him funny.
"Watch how I get back up," Kurti said, and started to swing. At a
certain point, he let go with his toes, turned about, and caught it with
his hands. Then, he simply pulled himself up and walked the wire as
anyone else would.
Mom applauded and cheered. Erik continued to stare for a while before
he joined in.
There was a game of chase, before dinnertime, where Kurti gambolled
about and Mom and Erik labored to keep up. Kurti showed off, tumbling
and leaping about as he laughed out, "Can't catch me"s at them. And they
couldn't catch him. He was faster than them and, thanks to his spring-
loaded legs, could easily leap twice their height.
Finally, he let Mom catch him and tickle him into submission,
finishing with a hug that he wished he could share with his real mother.
If only for one day.
Dinner was as big a feast as lunch, full of American Thanksgiving
treats like Turkey and Pumpkin Pie and Clam Chowder.
His stomach pleasantly full, Kurti let Mom bathe him and brush him,
then dress him for bed. She told him stories until he couldn't keep his
eyes open any more, and he slept.
Kurti woke late, well past dawn, and hurriedly dressed. He only had a
few more hours to share with Mom and he wanted to make them the best.
Erik found him wandering the halls and took him down to the kitchen,
where a sleep-rumpled Mom yawned over coffee and pancakes - flapjacks to
her fellow Americans.
"Did you have a good day, yesterday?" Mom asked.
"It was the *best*, Mom," Kurti gave her a hug. "I'll remember it for
the rest of my life, I swear."
Erik offered waffles, scrambled eggs, bacon, hash browns, cereal
sausages and toast.
Kurti, of course, had a generous sampler and couldn't help purring at
his third slightly-overfull tummy in as many meals. Mama's cooking was
just as nice - maybe more so - but there were times when things were
thin and Kurti had to go a little bit hungry or fill up on water. It was
because of the thin times that Kurti had originally agreed to see the
people that Herr Weiss wanted him to meet.
He didn't really see an end to meeting Herr Weiss' 'friends', short of
something nasty happening to Herr Weiss; and just kept quiet about the
people and what they wanted.
Kurti chased those thoughts out of his head. Today was for happy
times. Mom needed the happy times. They'd fortify her when he had to go
back home and she was left alone in this huge and empty place.
With that thought in mind, he scootched his chair close to hers and
leaned on her.
Mom sighed and laid her arm around his shoulder.
"Tell me, Kurt," said Erik. "How long have you been able to jump
around like that and stick to walls?"
"Erik," Mom warned. "Don't be rude."
"I don't mind," said Kurti. "That's not nearly as rude as being asked
where I do and don't have fur."
"Well..." Mom allowed. "As long as *you're* okay with it, I guess..."
Kurti smiled. "I started as soon as I could," said Kurti. "Mama says I
used to crawl around on the *ceiling* if I was allowed to get out of my
playpen. She says I was better at escaping than Onkel Wolf. As for
jumping - as soon as I learned to, I could go *really* high. It scared
Mama a lot."
"Hmmm..." said Erik, and wandered of frowning and mumbling to himself.
"Don't mind Erik," said Mom. "He's gotten a little eccentric, lately.
He's full of these little quirks."
Breakfast done with, Kurti washed and brushed again, with Mom's help,
and launched straight into a last few hours' play once he was properly
dressed.
Time, however, wasn't on their side, and too soon, the toys had to be
put back where they came from.
Finally, Mom sat on a chair and placed Kurti on her lap. For a photo
to remember him by.
Kurti made his best smile for the camera, and Erik got him to watch a
squeaky puppet. There was some other noise behind him, but before he
could look, the flash popped and blinded him.
Kurti blinked away the light's shadow from his eyes as Erik tidied the
camera away and Mom gave him a few more cuddles and kisses while they
waited for the car to be ready.
Once again, he was strapped into a safety seat. Mom was sad, but it
was more a wistful sadness, and she kept petting Kurti's arm. He let
her, since she obviously needed to do it.
When they returned to the circus grounds, Mom pressed a little object
into his palm. "This is for you, Kurti, dear. It'll help keep you safe."
Kurti gave her one last hug. "Thank you, Mom."
"Goodbye," she whispered.
Erik helped him out of the car and shooed him on his way.
Kurti looked at his gift. It was a medallion of Saint Benedict of
Narsia. He'd keep it with the rest of his valued treasures.
Then he remembered. He had a Mama and Papa who were waiting for him,
and his sisters and his friends and aunts and uncles and - in brief -
his whole tribe.
Kurti ran towards the trailers and wagons. Towards his home.
Inside the rented limousine, Raven reverted back to her true shape and
clutched a locket to her chest. Inside it was a single lock of her son's
hair. She wouldn't wear it. She couldn't. If she had to shapeshift into
a small animal, it would be lost.
Raven couldn't afford to lose such a valuable artifact.
That and the photograph would be all the physical evidence that she
could ever have that she'd spent one special day with her equally
special son.
Erik drove her back to the castle. To the toys she'd have to sell on,
now that there was no-one to play with them. "Manifestation of mutant
abilities during infant development," he said. "Amazing. Simply amazing.
And to think - I had nothing to do with it... He would have made a
*fantastic* subject."
"We had a deal," she hissed.
"Yes," said Erik. "I keep my hands off him - and so do you."
"I know," Raven's voice turned dead and she clasped the tiny locket to
her heart. "I know."