Chapter Seventeen

The rest of the night passed in a blur. Someone else, James wasn't sure who, told his mother that Edmund was dead. He was glad. He didn't have the energy, emotionally or physically, to deal with his mother's grief right then. Instead, he allowed himself to be ushered from place to place by guards and concerned townsfolk, his expression blank and unresponsive.

At some point he and his mother were taken into a neighbour's house. They were given beds, and as James silently crawled under the strange sheets, thoughts of Grim and his father raced through his head. Countless worries battled for his attention, clashing with his mother's never ending wails. He didn't know how he fell asleep that night, though he suspected extreme exhaustion was the only logical explanation.

ooo

When the sun rose the next morning, James's eyes fluttered open in response to the warm, bright light spilling across his face. He winced and buried his face in the pillow, clutching the blanket to his chest. A new day, another step closer to meeting a fate similar to his father's.

He squirmed when his skin started to itch, but after trying to ignore it for a few minutes it became unbearable, and he reluctantly sat up in bed to investigate the cause. When he dropped the blankets into his lap and looked down at himself, his breath caught when he realised he was still wearing the clothes he had been wearing the night before. The itching was being caused by his father's dried blood.

James gulped, fighting down the urge to be sick as reality hit him like a horse kick to the stomach. He scrambled out of bed, grabbing the nearest wall as his head spun. then lurched to the window, fumbling with the latch before throwing it open and drinking in the fresh air like he was suffocating. He slumped against the windowsill for a long while, just breathing in the cold morning air. Eventually his stomach started to settle and the ability to think clearly returned to him.

The first thing he did was tear the bloodied shirt off, not caring that he didn't have anything else to wear. He tossed it at the ground, growing frustrated when the soft material made no noise against the wooden flooring, failing to express his fear and anger at his situation. "It's not fair," he mumbled, clenching his fists and grinding his teeth until the urge to cry passed. He couldn't cry now. That was childish, and his father's stupidity had stolen his right to be a child from him.

That's what he was, after all. A child. Certainly, James liked to pretend he was more mature than he was, going to the tavern with his friends, and flirting with danger - with Sparrow, for example. But he was still only sixteen, and far too young to be facing debt of this magnitude. He wanted to be looked after - for the problems to still only be for his parents to worry over.

Looking over at the bed his mother was occupying, James felt his eyes sting. She was sleeping for now, but when she woke up she'd have no husband, and a son who was facing the possibility of going the same way as his father. She was in no state to take this responsibility from James, and he certainly wasn't prepared to dump it on her anyway.

He huffed out a broken sigh, running a hand back through his tight little blonde curls, before tip-toeing by her and down the stairs. He didn't want to wake her. At least one of them deserved to avoid reality a little longer.

Downstairs, James spotted the person responsible for their lodgings that night. Missus Lily, a nice, elderly lady, looked up from her tea, her eyebrows raised in surprise. "James, dear, I didn't expect you to be up so early." Her gaze dropped from his face to his bare chest. James looked down too and cringed at the blood smears on his skin. "There's a tub out the back if you'd like to wash. I can go fetch some clean clothes for you, if you'd like?"

James swallowed, then gave a small, silent nod. Missus Lily gave him a sad, sympathetic smile before standing up and toddling out of the house to find something for him to wear. James watched her go, then turned on his heel and headed out into the small, dark backyard.

He ignored the tub and instead just turned on the faucet, splashing the cold water onto his chest and wiping the blood away. The frosty cold water made him shiver and the muscles in his chest contracted in painful objection to his behaviour, but he ignored it and continued until he was clean of any blood. When he was done, he gratefully stepped back and turned off the faucet again, giving himself a little shake to rid himself of excess water. It made him think of a dog, and that in turn made him think of his namesake, Pumpkin. A little of the nausea from earlier returned as a sudden desperate craving for Sparrow's company hit him.

Now wasn't the time to be thinking about Sparrow though. Shaking his head, James turned and slunk back into the house. The fire was lit and he gladly approached it, crouching in front of it to warm up after his deep unpleasant bath.

He was only there for a few moments before Missus Lily returned, carrying a bundle of clothes. James recognised them as his own, and realised that his home must have been cleared during the night. Maybe they'd be able to go back that day. He doubted he'd want to.

"I just brought a shirt and some clean trousers for you," Missus Lily said, placing the small pile down on the her dining table. "Let me know if there's anything else you want, alright dear?"

James approached her slowly, and picked up his clothes, clutching them to his chest like a shield. "Just..." he started, wincing at how croaky his voice was, "Just look after my mother, please?"

Missus Lily frowned, but nodded slowly. "Yes, of course dear. Are... you going somewhere?"

Turning back to the stairs, James began heading back up. "Yeah... yeah, I'm gonna go out for a bit. I need to clear my head."

"A walk will probably help with that," Missus Lily said supportively, nodding again. James smiled a little, then continued up the stairs to get changed. He didn't know if a walk really would help, but he didn't want to be around when he mother woke up. He supposed it was selfish of him, but he had his problems and he'd be helping his mother far more by solving them, right?

ooo

Later that day, he padded through the streets, his gaze fixated on the cobblestones beneath his feet. He was aware of people watching him as he passed, no doubt gossipping about what had happened the night before. James paid them no heed, however, too lost in his own thoughts to care about public opinion anymore.

As he entered the town square, desperately digging through everything he knew about Grim and the Temple of Shadows, some familiar voices caught his attention. Raising his head, his gaze landed on a group of young people, all around about his age, and dressed so fancifully that for a moment James wondered if giving them to Grim would be enough to pay off his debt.

Shaking that thought off, James slowly approached his old friends. None of them were facing him, and so none of them saw him coming and their conversation went uninterrupted. As he got closer, however, he quickly realised that if they had been facing him, they would have stopped talking as soon as he came into earshot.

"Well, frankly it doesn't surprise me that old Mr Hamilton died the way he did," one girl said snootily, "We've all heard the rumours about him and the... things he got up to in his spare time."

"You don't think those rumours were true, do you?" another girl asked.

"My father says they were true," a boy, one James had harboured a crush on once upon a time, piped up, "And we've all seen the way James acted when we discussed his father."

The first girl nodded sourly. "He always got so cagey."

"Well, I think it's awful that there's been another murder in town already," the second girl said, shaking her head and ringing her hands. "Do you think they're connected? Maybe that other man was part of the Temple of Shadows too? Or maybe the man who killed him was?"

The boy shrugged. "Could be, I suppose, but I heard they were both rather... low-class. I hear the Temple only accepts patrons with money. Like Edmund Hamilton."

James had had enough of listening to the people he'd once called friends talk about his father like they understood the situation. He didn't care that they were right about Edmund being a Shadow Worshipper, and he didn't care that they were right about the reason he had died. They didn't have the right to talk about his family. Striding forward he barged through the group, startling the girls into squeaking, then spun on his heel to face them.

"My father and the problems he had, the problems that are now mine to bear, are not subject for idle gossip," he spat, glowering at each of them in turn. The girls fidgeted uncomfortably, and the boy folded his arms in an attempt to look defensive, though his expression was still obviously embarrassed at having been caught. "Grow up, all of you."

Turning on his heel, James stalked on, shaking his head in anger and disappointment. He wouldn't be able to rely on his former friends for support anymore. He couldn't rely on his mother. He couldn't rely on anyone. He was completely alone, and he had no idea how he was supposed to save himself from his father's fate.

Thank you for the reviews. :D It amazes me that people are still reading this after all this time.

Sparrow will return in the next chapter.