Chapter 14: A Scratch

Curse the bloody scratch, Arthur thought, patting the wound Alfred had spotted absent mindedly.

That's what had him so worried wasn't it? That's what he couldn't stop thinking about. How had he even mustered the nerve to visit Alfred when he had such a solid, clear warning against it? But that was always the case. He scoffed at the fact that Alfred told him to 'be careful'. The prince of spades didn't realise what being 'careful' meant anymore. Seeing him any at all wasn't careful for a start. Unofficially borrowing a horse to do so even less so. Teaching him to hunt? Near fatal. Bloody Princes aside, even walking on the street without a uniform was not careful these days.

But it had been a matter of days and he couldn't convince himself fully of what he might be trifling with enough to see sense. And so he went to Alfred as usual and acted as if nothing was wrong.

He had to face up to the risk at some point though.

So why not face it now? Magnus was tied up in the old Warehouse stables and he was on his brisk way through the dirt streets at last. He dodged a cart on the roadside, broken and stripped of any produce, abandoned by its owner. He saw what might be the remains of a cabbage trodden into the stagnant mud of the bank and had to grit his teeth as he passed. They had cabbage anyway, lots and lots of cabbage - only cabbage many evenings.

So he returned to the moment when he'd recieved the scratch once more: the cold, the shadow of the early morning, the faint glow on the silver trees which stretched on either side, the ground, hard and unyielding, pushing up through the thin soles of his shoes to chill his feet, the ghost moon still visible in the dawn sky through the trees. That's what distracted him from the trail of the squirrel he had been stalking momentarily, that ghostly silhouette of the moon above his head. That was when he felt the first shivers of his own isolation, the trees seemed closer, as if cradling him on all sides. The feeling was extinguished by the sound of leaves being disturbed faintly somewhere nearby and Arthur, wary of the beasts within the belly of the forest, was immediately on guard, loading his bow and peering into the trees. His heart rate quickened and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up; something was eyeing him up, he felt it.

He should have left then; ignorance is bliss and all that. It wouldn't have done him much more good he supposed but at least he wouldn't have to keep thinking about it like this. Instead of fleeing he had tried scoping out the noise - got braver, thought maybe it was a deer, something big to take home, something Mel would be awestruck with - and Peter too. He listened closely to where he thought it could be, stepping tentatively. It was during this cautious search that he lost awareness of the way he'd come. He felt himself begin to lose hope - there was no deer in sight, the squirrel was long gone, time kept moving regardless. And Tim was more irritable these days than ever. Antonio, who was increasingly absent from the Warehouse of late, wasn't even going to be there to take the brunt of his annoyance. So he gave up.

Arthur broke free from his thoughts momentarily as he passed the arms shop Antonio used to love so much, It was boarded at the windows but the top floor curtain inched open slightly as Arthur went by, just a flicker of movement, as if issued by the hand of a ghost.

But, he considered (returning to that moment in the woods once more) it had been in that instance of giving up, slowly turning with tired shoulders, lowering his bow, loosening his grip, that the wind was taken from his lungs as a shooting pain seared across his leg with a rush of air beside him. He remembered the call of a bird fleeing a tree branch followed by a dull, short crack of wood mirroring the dull, short cry of surprise he uttered. Reaching down to the source of the hurt and cursing under his breath Arthur glimpsed the strange object now protruding from the tree trunk just beside him. And, distracted from the sting in his leg, realised the object was not so strange. He furrowed his brow and abandoned his leg to touch the arrow stuck firmly in the wood of the tree. He gasped to see his fingers leave bloody trails on the pale wood. The sight of blood set his heart beating again and, realising with panic that it was his own, he peered into the trees, ducking down hurriedly and unsteadily. For a moment, a split second only, he thought he saw something, no more than a shadow really, faint and pale like mist shifting in the distance - but it may have been his eyes playing tricks on him. Still, it had been enough to send a cold shudder of fear through his stomach and he hitched his bow back over his shoulder and began to move off, disoriented and heavy footed in the direction he hoped led home. And all that time running back (and it had been a Long time before he eventually found the river again) it had raced through his mind that someone had just grazed him with that arrow, someone had been in that forest watching him. And why would they shoot at him? Not the best shot, he couldn't help but think - perhaps they were aiming for something else? But then why not respond to Arthur's cry of pain? Had the Ace's words been more than a threat? Surely the Ace wouldn't have shot him in the leg, that seemed absurd, but anyone might have clocked him as the boy who visits the palace. Visits, and yet never goes in the front gates. Anyone could assume that he was up to no good. All it took was a wild sense of patriotism and Arthur was going to end up with an arrow in him instead of just grazing him. The guards had been getting increasingly aggressive lately, those bastards who thought they had so much authority that -

"Get your hands off me!"

Arthur's frantic tirade of anxious thoughts was shattered by the jarring sound of shouting in the square - a square which today should have stood empty save for muttering beggars on the corners and the clusters of litter blowing across the paving stones. Seeing the scrum of figures clustered in the centre of the space outside the old village hall, Arthur had half a mind to turn on his heel and take the back streets home. Trouble these days was nothing you wanted to be a part of - not when it was public like this. Staying invisible was of higher importance than ever, keeping your head down was the only way to keep your head at all. But something about the ruckus out in the square made him break his policy of transparency to listen to what was going on, pause by the corner, just out of sight of anyone involved and eavesdrop the way you were scolded for as a child.

"Stand down!" Came a barking reply to the first shout, "Attacking a guard is a felony!"

"fighting your protectors is foolish!" A second commanding voice joined the first as if in some loud, oppressive harmony, "And you have a right to consider what we ask!"

"No way in hell! There's no chance!" The initial voice spat back passionately.

Arthur's jaw went slack and he had a feeling in the back of his mind like a brick slipping into place in a wall. He recognised the voice. How could he not have known that voice? Of all the voices it could have been, it really should not have come as a surprise. But he felt it all the same, along with the slow icy churn of dread in his stomach. Why? why did Antonio insist on getting himself into these things?

"You're a traitor to your leaders!" The guards were growing tired of him now and their complaints swelled, their voices ebbing and flowing with the motion they must be caught in with Antonio. Arthur saw them in his mind, holding back his arms, clamping his fists.

"This is not the time to be selfish, you lowlife!"

"I could not give two shits about my 'leaders' or you two fools or any of it!" Antonio's voice now came out in rough pants, his physical tiring reflected in his lack of breath.

"Don't you now?" This hard statement was followed by the sound of Antonio grunt in pain, his voice contorting around the sound.

Arthur felt a real harsh tug for the first time. That old feeling again, the one which bound him to his best friend. The one that likened the sound of his pain to the sound of fingernails down a chalkboard. And as if powerless to stop himself he left the safety of the splintered shop corner and headed for the centre of the square with no clear thought as to what he would do.

He could see them now, one guard, the larger of the two, in navy uniform which stretched taut around him, twisting Antonio's arm harshly behind his back with another meaty hand hooked within the roots of his hair. The second man held a roster under the arm and was pressing sharply into Antonio's foot with the hard, polished heel of his shoe. His face was sharp and beaked like a crow's.

"You insolent. filthy. cretin!" With each spat word, the guard crushed that black, shiny heel into Antonio's shoe like the crow pecking at a worm in the earth, Arthur's old friend issuing a muffled groan each time.

Unable to take it any longer, Arthur felt his mouth open, hesitating only to allow the feeling in his stomach subside. But when he did open his panicked vocal chords to utter the shout that he hoped would send the guards dissipating into the breeze he was confused to hear that his voice did not sound like his own at all.

"Hey! What d'you think you're doing with that boy?"

Tall, brazen and furious, Tim Peters strode into the chaotic triangle of abuse, holding an arm out in front of him and an expression of mild annoyance on his face.

"This is no concern of yours!"

"Isn't it?" his features flinched now the way a curtain might flinch to flash a glimpse of the fire dwelling within, "that shitbag you're tossing around happens to work for me, and I won't be too happy to see him too crippled for duty - in fact, I'm sure the Jack of Spades would agree."

Perhaps it was his tone, or maybe his size - or merely the phrase 'too crippled for duty' - that made the guards hesitate. Antonio, who's head had been hanging, dark hair matted and falling over his eyes, looked up at Tim. Arthur noticed a bleeding cut beneath his eye where the guard must have clipped him. But Antonio was giving Tim a look, a weary, perplexed look which said: 'why are you bothering with me? I haven't been to work in weeks'.

"Who do you think you are, peasant?" The heavier man spoke first, smirking at Tim, puffing out his chest as if to reinstate himself as the alpha male. Arthur could almost see his buttons strain against the action, "I'll have you know you're boy spat at me when he passed - do you not think he should be taught respect?"

"Peters...Timothy Peters," The tall man let the name roll off his tongue, unperturbed, Arthur even saw him pick at his nails briefly, as if more occupied by the grit beneath them,"I own The Warehouse, you may know it? I often find myself tending to the...needs of many of your kind. And I think he'll be taught as much respect as he can hold working under me here."

He eyed the two men sharply and with considerable distaste. They glanced at one another as if in question, sweat on the large man's brow catching the light, the crow's beady eyes narrowing.

"I...may have heard of the place while I've been on duty here," the sweating one commented, his grip on Antonio's arm loosening slightly, only by an inch or so.

"-B-but! - you understand that this young man should have at least an inkling of respect for his kingdom!" the second was quick to reinforce, but his eyes could no longer hold Tim's gaze as surely.

"And what d'you think he's up to working for me then, eh?" Tim snarled at the guards, flashing a hint of his temper once more, flaunting it more like, Arthur thought. It was all for show; he wanted to scare them.

"Shifting crates is not bravery!" They seemed to tense up again, digging their claws back into Antonio's protesting limbs. The boy himself coughed and let out a yell as they did so, writhing slightly in a vain attempt to shake off their hold, hands balled in fists.

Tim's expression stayed as stony and flat as the surface of an undisturbed pond but Arthur's waters were churning again. They weren't going to back down. He began to reconsider yelling at them, drawing their attention for a moment at least. But it was a second later that the guards attentions were drawn by something else entirely: the sound of footsteps, quick and uneven with the tap of heels. Women's footsteps.

"Tim!" She called breathily as she neared, "what is it? You promised no more trouble."

Appearing from behind them, Belle joined the uncomfortable meeting, holding a hand over her mouth upon seeing Antonio, bent double and hounded by guards.

"Belle, what are doing out here?" Tim seemed irritated and worried and uncertain upon seeing her, torn between giving her his full attention and keeping one eye on the two uniformed men to his left, "Go back inside! This isn't safe for you - not in your condition."

As Belle shifted to stand beside her brother and her long shawl was disturbed by the wind. Arthur couldn't help but feel shocked at the way her stomach swelled. At the consolidation of the shameless village whispers. Surely she had not been showing so much the last time he saw her? He knew, of course hhe'd known for a while, but he had not considered the reality of Belle's condition. And out here was no place for someone carrying a child to be.

The guards seemed to catch sight of Belle's swollen belly (to which she held a nervous hand) and blanche slightly. Arthur wondered what Toni might have been thinking thinking, seeing her out here like this.

"What are you doing with him?" Belle, ignorant of her brother's dissuasive hand on her wrist, pointed an un-shaking finger at the guard who's fat hands were making red rings on Antonio's arms.

"Leave it, Belle!" Antonio and Tim uttered in the same second as if the whole awful thing was staged.

She frowned, putting her hands to her hips.

"You won't take him against his will, you won't because my brother-!' Just as Belle was stepping forward to continue her vicious reasoning there was the sound of riotous laughter, raucous and loud, from a street beyond followed by the shocking echoes of something like gunshots, resonating and intruding in the quiet of the town. Arthur could not hold back a flinch which only seemed to worsen the growing heated feeling in his stomach.

Looking back to the scene in the square he was surprised to see the guards drop Antonio's arms roughly and consider the ruckus in the next street, hard, dissatisfied looks on their faces.

"We know where you work," one muttered, staring at Antonio first and then both Tim and Belle, "we know all of you."

And it was the most threatening thing he'd uttered for the entire ordeal but a moment later he turned on his heel and was barking in the direction of the street beyond like a dog distracted by a squirrel, the other close behind, giving Antonio a kick for good measure.

And so why was Arthur's stomach still hot and knotted? Why did seeing Antonio, Tim and Belle stand together now like a hardened family watching their house burn to ashes make him feel even worse? He wanted to call out and congratulate them, reassure them. But what would they say to him? That he was just as brave for watching on as he did? He had thought about shouting - more than once. But really what good was thinking? Thinking wouldn't have stopped them taking Toni, forcing him to sign up - just like they had Karlos. He felt like his own worst enemy; too cautious when it mattered, completely careless otherwise.

Arthur resolved to approach at long last, watching Antonio turn to Tim sheepishly.

"Uh, thanks, you saved my hide," he rubbed at the marks on his wrists, " and, yeah, about work...-"

"Turn up tomorrow or don't come back," Tim interrupted sharply, but surprisingly forgivingly.

"Oh, okay, right, thanks sir," Antonio's eyebrows rose as he responded.

"C'mon Belle," Tim muttered, turning swiftly and beginning to walk in the opposite direction across the square.

Belle hesitated before following, glancing over her shoulder at her brother and then back at Antonio with a look of uncertainty in her eye.

"You should go home Belle," Antonio held her eye and spoke with concern rather than dismissal - though his tone was a little clipped.

"...Yes, alright" was all she replied slowly.

A little delayed, she nodded as if to reiterate this statement and began to back away after her brother, who had beckoned her more harshly again, one protective hand still curled around her stomach.

Arthur didn't know who's baby it was. He had asked Belle and she, for all her gossiping, would not tell him. He'd had to bear the details of every boy she had kissed behind the schoolhouse, the re-telling of Antonio's own confession to her all those years ago on several occasions - but this? Not a peep. It was her one point of stubbornness, where she would shake her head hard and cross her arms over her stomach. Of course, he had suspicions. Well...just one suspicion. But asking Antonio had been too embarrassing a thought to entertain. So he went on not knowing. He knew little about what Antonio and Belle's relationship had been - still was now even - over the past couple of years. It was strange considering they were both his closest friends but, on the whole, little had changed between them at first, although he'd been incredibly sensitive with it. He had flared up at any touch, glance, hug which he saw to be even vaguely romantic, made excuses to leave at unnecessary times, became melancholy or embarrassed at the smallest things. Then everything around them started changing and whether Antonio and Belle held hands on the way to the Goose became less and less important. So he went on not knowing.

"Toni," he uttered finally, as he came within a couple of metres of his friend, surprised to hear his own voice crack slightly as he approached.

The older boy spun round to see him, momentarily baffled and then - there it was - the easy grin as per usual, though it faded more quickly than it may have done a year or so before and was replaced with an almost pleading look, like he would cry. Arthur thought, there were some things he wished would not change.

"Ah, Arthur... I'm glad to see you and not another one of those scum," he wiped the blood from his cheek and mustered another weak smile.

"Oh, yeah, I saw them leaving just now..." Arthur's pride got the better of him revealing his witnessing the whole affair, "...Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, good, actually, they just shook me about a bit, you know how it is," he tried to keep the smile up, shrugging his shoulders and shaking out his twisted shirt. He kept looking at Arthur as if to say something more, mouth opening, eyes with that same look which followed his initial smile.

Arthur nodded eventually and for a few moments there was a silence between them, short but empty. Arthur resented it. He didn't see Antonio as much as he used to, he could not recall the last time they'd gone hunting together, though it must have been only a few weeks ago.

"Will you come back to the warehouse?" Arthur broke the silence to ask.

"Maybe," Antonio sighed and suddenly looked tired, "sorry I went and abandoned you there."

"You had others things to do, I know" Arthur was quick to reassure with a shrug which was too jerky, "besides, I'm alright there."

Perhaps he was keen to assure Antonio that he didn't need him, or too scared to admit how much he had missed his company.

"Yeah," Toni gave a half smile, "You were always better coping there than me anyway."

Arthur shrugged, uncertain as to how to respond. He supposed in some ways he had been: always disappearing off on delivery runs, waving back at Antonio behind as he lugged crates in Kattleroot. Although Antonio had been a better worker in lots of ways.

"Tim works me as hard as ever," Arthur replied as means of an answer.

"Don't go and work yourself too hard though, Turnip," Antonio impulsively reached out a hand to touch Arthur's hair, hesitating as he acknowledged the action, and forgetting the usual ruffle, just leaving it there, partially entangled.

Whether the habit or the nickname, something made him tense up uncomfortably. Arthur held his breath, the action had been so instinctive and it was familiar and yet...and yet it felt strange now that he was no longer that 13 year old boy anymore.

"How's Felix?" Arthur thought to ask, rather abruptly and awkwardly.

Antonio's smile dissipated and seemed to fracture as it did so, leaving lines of concern over his face. His hand fell from Arthur's hair. Arthur was immediately sorry for asking about his sick brother.

"Not so good," Antonio's reply came with a grimace, " not so good."


A/N:

Hello hello, sorry for huge delays! Lots has been going on with me and the story has kinda been at the back of mind. .

BUT thank you those who reviewed in the mean time - you gave me the kick to get this out to you at last ahah! Anyway, I feel like this chapter is quite uneventful but I'll try hard to get another one out soon as I can.

Thanks for reading! :)