Edmund found that he barely needed to shake his brother. With even a light prod and a softly said "Peter," the High King sat up in bed and graced Edmund with a smile. "Time, is it?" he asked. When Edmund nodded, he said, "I've been waiting."

"Waiting in your sleep?" Edmund raised an eyebrow.

"You remember. You sleep, but you sleep prepared. Even in dreams you ready yourself."

"I remember," Edmund murmured.

They took the Underground again, and this time they were so early they caught the first train. Peter settled back into his seat. His shoulders were straight and the glint of adventure was in his eyes. That work shirt is hardly more of a disguise than his full court regalia. Edmund shook his head, but he smiled. It was better to have Peter as himself again. Much as he sometimes resented his brother's nobility, Edmund found he too relied on Peter to be stalwart.

He examined his own face dimly reflected in the window. He was very pale from lack of sleep, a color heightened by the contrast with his shock of dark hair. There were deep circles under his eyes and a yellow bruise on his jaw from the game the other day. He looked neither majestic nor kingly, only rather tired.

The only other person in the train car was a girl about their age. She too looked tired, but her clothes were too fresh and too modest for her to have been out all night. She looked over the mirror of her compact and saw Edmund examining her. She gave him a thin smile and mouthed "Your friend is very handsome." Peter was not paying attention.

"He's my brother," Edmund mouthed back, "and I know. He gets that a lot." He was unsure why he had to correct her, but he did anyway.

Obviously she wanted him to behave like a normal boy and nudge Peter and whisper something about her so Peter would notice. But Edmund didn't, because he wasn't feeling like a normal boy just then. When the girl got off at the next stop she made a last ditch attempt and dropped a paper. Peter automatically picked it up, failing to see the blatant transparency of the gesture. They made eye contact and she winked. Peter smiled in return, his kind and distant court smile that plainly said his gesture was mere politesse.

Edmund chuckled to himself. That was how it had always been in Narnia too. All the girls and dryads, the lowly and the lovely women from Calormen to Terebinthia noticed the Magnificence of Peter the High King. Indeed, he fairly radiated glory. The funniest part was his immunity to all the looks and flirtation. Peter could spot someone with intentions on Susan—honorable or otherwise—a mile away, but he was blind to any designs on his own person. It usually fell to Edmund, always a keen observer, to point out such dalliances. He always enjoyed Peter's shock, and the momentary falter in his High King persona.

Edmund had his share of flirtations, and though he could never rival Peter, the few attentions kept him happy enough that he could watch Peter with merriment. That was good. Edmund always sought to banish his old resentment of Peter, but it was sometimes a slow process, an erosion of old habits just as the waves ground down the peninsula of Cair Paravel. It was certainly taking Edmund two lifetimes.

The train ground to a screeching halt in the middle of the tunnel. Edmund crossed his arms and let out a long sigh and rolled his eyes to the ceiling. Why can't anything work properly? It's a simple matter, really. One only has to organize the trains and be aware of the schedules. If I were in charge I could do it handily and make sure we all had a decent way of getting around.

If I were in charge…Edmund repeated the words in his head and was sucked into a nasty memory of blundering in the snow and swearing he would bring decent roads to Narnia when he was king. This was before he knew he would be king anyway, when he believed the White Witch and only the White Witch had the power to make him so. His worst hour.

He found it alarming that little had changed from that time to this. He realized it was perhaps overanalyzing, but it was still unpleasant to think that so little had changed. Perhaps he was still the same person in other ways. Perhaps he could still—

"Peter," he said suddenly, to keep himself from finishing that thought, "I've been rather a little beast, haven't I?"

Peter turned to stare at him. "What on earth are you talking about, Ed?"

"Just in general. At school, when I used to pick on kids smaller than me. At home, when I teased Lucy…all those times."

"That was ages ago! Before we ever even knew of Narnia—you haven't been that way since." Peter's tone was one of amazement.

"Not ever?"

"Not like you were."

Edmund was saved from a reply from the train groaning to a start again. He kept his silent council, momentarily assuaged by Peter's amazement as his question. Maybe he wasn't entirely the same.

They came up from the Tube in an old quiet section of London, where the houses seemed untouched by the war and years of air raids. That some part of London was undamaged, static in a former time was something of a miracle. Edmund took a moment to appreciate it. It was the end of high summer, so the dawn was in full flush even at that early hour, but because the sun was so low the buildings cast long blue shadows on much of the ground. Edmund preferred this: they would have more cover. He forgot his ruminations from the train for a moment and felt a thrill travel through his body even as he did something as innocuous as search for the address the Professor had given them. He exchanged a glance with Peter, who was grinning. Peter nodded toward a house with a white door. "I think that's the house."

"So it is." Edmund's voice was trembling a little.

They approached the house quietly, making as little noise as they could. "They're all attached," Peter noted in a whisper. "We shall have to go around from the back."

"The side, rather," Edmund corrected. "I've a feeling on the other side the houses are the same. The only way to get into the gardens is from the end house." This was like the stratagems he used to plan with Peter in their Narnian days.

Peter grabbed Edmund's arm. "No! Look! The house next door is quite empty." Edmund looked up and saw that the windows were all dark and the glass was blown out of all the window panes.

"Yes! Polly said that house is usually empty—" here he snickered at the irony. "Because of the drains."

This struck them both as so funny they doubled over in the middle of the street, laughing silently until their sides hurt from repressing it. It was not that the joke was particularly funny, it was just that the spirit of adventure was running so high in them that they were quite excited.

The door was locked, of course, but Peter gave Edmund a boost through the side window, and he let Peter in. They stepped through the house which had been empty for so long it was covered in dust and quite uninteresting. Then they were at the back door. With a shining smile, Peter pushed it open, and they found themselves in an overgrown garden still hidden in morning shadow. It smelled rich and wild and it was very quiet except for a few bees buzzing around the honeysuckle. Edmund thought at once that if he ever bought a house it would have such a garden, a place that was never tilled but haphazard and carefree.

He wanted to stay a moment, but Peter was nudging him, so he went to the wall and hoisted himself over. Peter did the same, and in a second they were standing in another back garden. This one was far more groomed and well-mannered than the other. Indeed, one would never guess the two gardens were neighbors if it weren't for a little of the climbing ivy spilling over the red brick wall. There were neat rows of violets lining the path, and vegetables twining around stalks with the seed packets stapled to them. It was so English Edmund didn't like it.

Still, there was something that hung in the air that made Peter say "This is it. I can feel the magic here." Edmund agreed, though it seemed like the least likely place to find something from another world. He looked around him carefully as he walked to the corner where the tree had been.

He and Peter exchanged a glance and dug their spades into the earth with suppressed smiles. A dog began barking inside, and they had a furious, tense few minutes where they seemed to be digging and digging and nothing seemed to be happening. This was very bad because they were sure the people inside would wake up and find them. They dug as fast as they could, waiting for the cry of surprise. Then came the grateful moment when Edmund's shovel scraped on something and Peter stooped to pick up a box from the earth. They were sure they heard something then, so they left the shovels where they were and leapt over the hedge. They sank against the ivy covered wall panting a little and sweating, but grinning from ear to ear.