Things are starting to get more and more complicated! I'm so excited! I must say, that this story developed farther than my imagination could have even imagined at the beginning of the writing process. Anyhow, thanks to ilikedan and WillowC1 for reviewing the story. Thanks also go to ThorongilAnime for reviewing the story and putting it on their alert list.
Dobby's Imaginary Sock
Chapter Fifteen: Ladybird, Ladybird
"Ladybird, ladybird fly away home.
Your house is on fire and your children are gone."
Roud Folk Song Index, 1744
Mana sighed as he walked through the busy streets of Paris. It had been a while since he had last travelled to the grand old city of love, but it still had the same feel: romantic, beautiful, dirty, overpopulated, and filled to the brim with loose purse strings. There was always money to be made in the French capital with all the tourists and businessmen out for a stroll with their families. It would be a nice change from the routine life of a touring circus. He would miss his compatriots, but at the same time he was thrilled to return to his life of wandering.
People would turn to look at him as Mana walked down the street. Any other man with a large head would think they were looking at him, but he knew better. He really wasn't a remarkable looking boy. Sure, he had been told that he was handsome enough, but he always dressed down and embraced the soot and dust that clung onto his clothes and body. Mana was really afraid that if he cleaned up too well that people might recognize his aristocratic features. That wouldn't do at all. He'd let his brother be the handsome one. It was his battered suitcase that caught people's attention. The large leather case was much too thick to be your average piece of luggage, and the outside was littered with stamps from his various adventures. It wasn't everyday that you met someone who'd been to Moscow or Sarajevo. Even though he looked like a ragamuffin, girls would come right up to him to talk just because of his suitcase. Mana didn't mind that one bit.
There was something off, however, when he arrived in the inner city. People rushed about in a nervous frenzy, the kind that usually accompanied the coming of winter or some other disaster. It was nothing like the summer lull of the countryside. Mana could see that they had good reason, though. Every newsstand held headlines telling stories of disappearing towns and mass murders, sinking ships and anarchy. There was talk of corruption in the United States, war in Tibet, earthquakes, rebellions in Greece, and the continuation of the war on the Crimean Peninsula. It was entirely too much bloodshed for it to be just a coincidence. He knew this all too well and it appeared as if others were catching on. Nobody wanted to be caught out in the storm.
If only they knew the true extent of it all. Mana was perfectly capable of telling them the truth. But who would actually believe that a group of superhumans was orchestrating all of this suffering in order to take over the world. He couldn't think of anyone. The best thing he could do was to stay silent and hidden so that he wouldn't cause more misery in his wake. After all, if he were to be pursued by his family he wouldn't have time to look for Rory. In that case, though, it would probably be best if Rory remained missing for the rest of his life. It was a terrible thought, but it would be unfair for his little brother to come back to a world in which even Mana didn't want to live. He knew it wasn't the right thing to do, but he couldn't think of anyone he knew that chose the right option over the easy solution.
Mana found a corner in a rather crowded marketplace to set up his first performance. Setting his suitcase down with a thus, he unlocked it and fished out three juggling pins. He'd treat his time here just like every other visit, even if everyone else saw the difference.
oOo
It was the second day of his visit to Paris that the Black Order arrived in a black coach. The two black horses whinied as they came to a stop on the edge of the square, eyes rolling behind their blinders. It was a haunting sight, the kind that Mana normally saw in funeral processions. Of course this made him nervous, for he remembered Sanjiv's tale about what happened to Cross and his performance troupe when the Order came to Sicily. He also knew they probably wouldn't be as kind to him considering he was, genetically, a member of the Clan of Noah. Sure, the Black Order didn't know that there were humans that fought for the Earl... yet. Mana knew it was only a matter of time before his family would finally reveal their true colors. He didn't want any part of it.
A stern looking man in a gold-trimmed coat limped up to a row house next to his current performance. The coat only served to make him look like a vulture, not helped by his beady black eyes, thin gray hair, and a large crooked nose. His one leg was made of wood, probably a battle wound. He knocked on the door and after speaking to a young blonde man he obtained entry. Mana tried his best not to become distracted by this proximity, focusing on the flaming batons he was juggling. The crowd didn't seem to notice his anxiety and applauded very loudly as he caught the batons and gave a sweeping bow. He held out the top hat that he used to collect tips, talking merrily with his audience.
An old woman stuck a silver coin into the hat. "That was lovely, just lovely," she chortled in French. "I'm amazed you were able to keep that up in this heat. Get yourself something nice and cold to drink."
"Thank you, madam," he replied. He began to pack his things away for the day once the crowd dispersed. It was almost two o'clock. The lunchtime rush was over, so he could afford to rest for a couple hours. It really was too hot to be performing at the moment. Mana decided to find a shaded lawn to stretch. He'd give tumbling a try when the factories let out.
Before he could leave the square, though, the door to the row house nest door burst open. The man in the gold-trimmed coat from earlier exited the house leading a small brown-haired boy by the hand. A brown-haired woman, who Mana assumed was the boy's mother, stood in the doorway crying and shrieking at the man. "Froi! Give me back my baby!"
"Mama!" called out the little boy over his shoulder. The man in the gold-trimmed coat tugged the child closer, forcing him to turn forward again.
She was about to run out the door after him when the blonde man came up and grabbed her from behind. He hugged the woman and began to caress the side of her face, speaking soothing words into her ear. "He must go, Marielle," he said. His eyes were sad as they looked down into hers. "It is God's plan for our son."
The woman turned and began to sob into her husband's chest, the will to fight leaving her completely. Her son seemed to notice this and called out to his mother again. "Mama!" he cried. She did not look up at the child, shaking as he continued to call out to her. The man in the gold-trimmed coat opened the door to a coach on the other end of the square and placed the child inside. He climbed in as well and slammed the door. The coach sped off under the afternoon sun.
Mana's stomach churned as he watched the coach drive away. The child's parents walked slowly back into their house, the husband closing the door firmly behind them. People walked by as if nothing had happened. It made him sick that the mother had given up and that no one else tried to stop the man from the Black Order. Didn't anyone else see how the coach looked like a hearse?
It was a death sentence to become involved with the Order. They were fighting a battle that could only be lost, for they didn't know the extent of the evil that they were up against. The least anyone could do would be to save a child from this losing battle. He wasn't any better, though. After all, he hadn't said anything when the child walked past him. Mana Walker was weak, someone who couldn't even save his own little brother or defend him from the wrath of his twin. A certain auburn-haired magician might have said something, for Cross had a strong will. His friend would have shot lightning from the sky or broke the spokes on the wheels before even thinking of giving up on that child. He, however, was not Cross. Mana looked away from the street where the coach continued to carry the boy away, trying to forget that anything had even happened.
oOo
On his sixth day in the city it began to rain. Although it would make it practically impossible for him to tumble, it was a nice change of pace. It meant he could take the day off without feeling guilty. Mana couldn't remember the last time that he truly had a day to himself. He thought about going to a pub, but then changed his mind. In the end, he settled on a nice walk around the city. The ever-present construction crews were gone, eliminating a lot of the city's usual noise. He had to commend them, though, for the city was really becoming more beautiful every year. The streets were now wide and clean, lined with stone buildings of matching height. It was a far cry from the winding streets of half-wooden houses that Mana remembered from his first visit.
The rain felt nice after the last six stifling hot days. Mana almost felt like finding a fountain to splash around in, but he avoided it because it could only result in his eventual arrest and committal to an asylum. He didn't feel like getting locked up. It would probably take Cross half a year before his auburn-haired friend found him.
Speaking of the color red, Mana saw a rather wet but familiar red-head walking down the street in front of him. He couldn't believe his luck, for it appeared that Sanjiv had yet to notice him. Mana thought about walking away, but then a brilliant thought struck his mind. It was his turn to play 'Bookman'.
After all, he had nothing better to do than to get sweet revenge for his last run in with the young Bookman by stalking him for a day. Mana rolled up his wet sleeves and continued following Sanjiv at a distance.
Sanjiv seemed to have some sort of agenda, for he walked at a brisk pace down side-streets and boulevards. Thankfully, he was quick on his feet and had no trouble following the young Bookman's sudden changes in direction. He also appeared to be distracted, he didn't turn around once to face Mana the stalker. In a particularly dark alley Sanjiv suddenly stopped. Mana could see why, for a tall figure blocked his path. He ducked back around the corner as Uncle Tykki walked up the the young Bookman.
"You seem to be in a hurry," drawled his uncle.
"I'm running an errand," responded Sanjiv cooly. Mana heard the young Bookman take a couple steps, most likely an attempt to step around his uncle.
"Is Neah at your place?" asked Uncle Tykki. "Road won't stop nagging me about him."
This was becoming interesting, although Mana didn't want to admit it. "No," stated Sanjiv. "I haven't even heard from him since before the fire. I suppose he survived the explosion if you're asking about his whereabouts."
"Yes, he sent the Earl a telegraph from London," replied Uncle Tykki. "He said something about lying low for a while so that the anarchists might make a mistake. It's odd, for I would have thought that he'd come stay with one of us."
"He's going on fifteen years of age," said Sanjiv. "Since when has a fifteen year-old ever done what you expected them to do?"
"Fair enough," replied Uncle Tykki. Mana heard his uncle walk away. "Send one of us a telegraph if he so much as breathes in your presence. I really don't have time to search for children."
"Neither do I," muttered Sanjiv.
Mana heard a door open and close. He took his chances and peeked around the corner. Uncle Tykki had disappeared, either through an Ark door or one of Road's doors. Sanjiv walked steadily down the alley as if nothing had happened. Mana picked up his pace to reestablish the comfortable distance between them.
Finally they reached a factory along the Seine River close to the outskirts of the city. Sanjiv stopped and sat on a little hill fifty meters from the place, just close enough to see the people coming out from the day shift. From what Mana could tell, his attention was focused on the warehouse next to the factory where men were unloading large crates from a wagon.
After fifteen minutes of watching the same movements, he became very bored. He didn't know what was in the crates and he doubted that he would care. It was obviously another one of his Bookman training exercises just like observing him or Cross but a lot less interesting. Mana decided it was time to pounce. Slowly he army-crawled up the hill, closing the gap until he was just five meters away from Sanjiv. That was when the young Bookman whipped out a knife and chucked it at him.
Mana rolled to the side, narrowly escaping the deadly item. "Hey!" he hissed at the young Bookman.
"So it was you," stated Sanjiv, not even turning to face him. Apparently he had failed once again. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"Following you," he admitted in defeat. "I saw you back on Champs-Élysées. I forgot that you were in Paris."
"For the meantime, yes," responded Sanjiv. "We'll probably move again in the next year. The old geezer wants to go to Rome to observe the Noah's actions against the Black Order."
"Oh," remarked Mana. "So... what are you looking at here?" He finished crawling up the hill and sat next to Sanjiv.
"The man who owns this factory is an informant of the Millennium Earl," said the young Bookman. "He harbors akuma and akuma skeletons in his warehouse."
"I thought the Earl kept all of them in his laboratory," mumbled Mana. He absolutely abhorred talking about his uncle's extracurricular activities.
"He has to use a transport spell to make them appear when needed," explained Sanjiv. "It would take up too much energy if he had to transport them from his lab on the Ark every single time. Plus, akuma cannot just float around all day. The Black Order would find them all easily that way. Your family goes through a lot of effort to keep this war secret."
"Right," replied Mana. "And this is interesting because..."
"It's not," agreed Sanjiv. "Bookman is still miffed about me researching without his permission, so now I have to do all the little jobs and report back to him. He says it will help with communication. I think that it's just a bunch of shit."
They sat there in silence as they watched the men walked away from the warehouse. The cart that had delivered the crates drove away. Mana sighed and blew a loose strand of wet hair out of his face. This was turning out to be a boring, soggy day. He felt like a cooped-up, cranky child waiting to be let out into the yard. Sanjiv walked down the hill to pick up his knife. A metal pendant tied to a piece of string fell out of his pocket when he sat back down. Mana picked it up and looked at the carved front: a picture of the Virgin Mary.
"What's this?" he asked.
"I picked it up on one of my trips," responded Sanjiv. He snatched the pendant out of his hands, putting it back in his pockets. "It belonged to an acquaintance of mine."
"Who?" inquired Mana.
Sanjiv didn't reply for his eyes fixed on something behind him. Mana turned to look at what was so damn interesting that the young Bookman couldn't answer a simple question. He quickly saw the reason. The warehouse next to the factory began to glow a peculiar shade of green. Workers entering the factory from the night shift also stopped to stare at this spectacle. Suddenly, the warehouse exploded, throwing everyone outside off of their feet. Out of the corner of his eye Mana could see Sanjiv pull out a leather book from his bag. He quickly took down some notes amidst the screaming and the pounding rain. A fat man wearing a black suit emerged from the factory and began shouting orders at the workers unaffected by the blast. He looked panicked as he surveyed the damage, leading Mana to conclude that this was the owner of the factory.
Smaller explosions continued to occur after that as the impact hit the akuma in the warehouse. Mana could not see them through the smoke until a small Level Two akuma burst out above the carnage. No one else besides Sanjiv seemed to notice it fleeing as its streamed a trail of smoke. It stopped suddenly as if an invisible rope had wrapped itself around its body. Strung up like a marionette it flew back into the smoke, but another explosion never came.
Terrified that other akuma may have survived the explosions and the ensuing fire, Mana took off back towards the city. Only when he was halfway back to the inn where he was staying did he hear someone running after him. "Hey!" shouted Sanjiv. "Wait up! I have something to tell you!"
Mana turned to face him. "What?" he snapped. He was no longer in the mood to talk to anyone remotely involved with the Earl or any aspect of the war.
Sanjiv looked at him pensively. "I see what Neah meant," he muttered under his breath. "You really do have a bad temperament."
"Is that all?" Mana inquired incredulously. All he wanted to do right now was to hide away in his room until the sun returned tomorrow.
"No. We received a telegraph the other day from Cross," the young Bookman said. "He didn't know when he'd next be able to talk, but he wanted us to let you know that he'll be in Liverpool during the Winter Solstice."
Mana felt his mouth hang open. "He wants to meet in England?" he questioned. "But that's where they live."
Sanjiv replied, "He can't meet at any other time, though, so it's either in Liverpool or you'll have to wait a year. Plus, he said it was important."
"Important my ass," spat Mana. "It's still suicide going to England, especially when both of us are there."
"He thought you'd say that," said Sanjiv. "That's why I am going with you."
Mana glared at the redhead. "That will only make me more noticeable!"
"But you will go if you're not alone, correct?" asked the young Bookman, quirking one of his damn eyebrows.
Mana cursed furiously under his breath. "Alright," he seethed. "I will go with you to Liverpool."
Sanjiv grinned briefly at him and clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Good," he stated. "We'll leave from the town of Dunkirk on the seventh of December. That will give us plenty of time to reach Liverpool by the twenty-first."
"I hate you," grumbled Mana. He shoved his hands into his pockets and walked away.
"That's perfectly fine," responded Sanjiv.
When Mana turned around the young Bookman had disappeared. He returned to the inn to pack up. It was time to leave Paris. There was no chance in hell that he was sticking around after this.
oOo
Mana had forgotten how dreary the weather could be in Britain. Even though it was nearing the New Year, there was hardly any snow on the ground. He was thankful that it wasn't bitterly cold, but the town could at least look like a cozy winter wonderland if he had to be there. All he had to look at were drunk Irishmen, grey skies, and dirty-looking slush.
Sanjiv walked through this muck, his nonexistent mood unchanged. Every now and then he would pull out a piece of paper, read it, and then continue along his way. Either he was really bad with directions, or he was taking the long way not specified on the paper. Mana guessed it was the second. This town was hardly large enough to be called a city, so it would be much too easy to be followed. He couldn't fathom why Cross wanted to meet all the way out here instead of in a bigger city like London or Belfast where it would be easier to hide. It was the total opposite of Berlin.
When the rounded a corner a few minutes later, Sanjiv stopped him and handed him the piece of paper. "You follow the directions straight to the meeting point," he said. "Don't try to skive off. I'm going to take a different path in case anyone connected to the Millennium Earl is in town, but I should be there in a half hour."
He snatched up the directions from the young Bookman. "I know. I know," he muttered darkly. "I'm not Little Red Ridinghood. I won't wander off of the path."
Sanjiv walked off in another direction. "You should go back to being whimsical," he stated. "This attitude just doesn't seem right, especially from you."
Mana scowled at the back of his head and then went back to reading directions. He still had a while to go, for their meeting point was outside the town. It would take another ten minutes to reach there by foot if he didn't get lost. Mana thought about what Sanjiv had said as he turned another corner. He really was giving off a bad attitude. While he absolutely did not want to be in Liverpool, it wasn't fair to Sanjiv or Cross that he should be acting like a grumpy child. Breathing in the cold, wet winter air, Mana began to reign in his emotions.
It didn't do any good in the end. His emotions grew even wilder as he reached the outskirts of town. He grew suspicious as he finally reached his destination. The building looked like it was an old church or perhaps a monastery. It was very quaint with its dirty stone facade and faded stained-glass windows. There was smoke rising out of a pipe-chimney and light streaming out of the windows leaving colourful patterns of saints on the slushy ground, so obviously the building wasn't completely abandoned. He walked down the path to the church, passing giant oaks with low-hanging branches draped in sharp, glimmering icicles. Something about the place gave him the creeps. It could have been that the icicles made the trees look like beasts baring their fangs at him or that a small, unkempt cemetery surrounded the church. Carefully he stepped over patches of ice to reach the door.
When he knocked, a small brown-haired middle-aged woman leaning on a cane answered. There was a loud din in the background sounding a lot like pots and pans hitting against each other. She looked him and then called over her shoulder. "Cross! I believe your friend is here."
"Thank you," he heard his friend call back.
The noise in the background stopped. "I want to meet Mr. Cross' friend!" cried out a child's voice. "Can I, Mother? Can I?"
"Let him say hello first, Bubba," chided the woman. "Come in, dear."
Mana stepped into the church and felt the warmth of a fire rush over him. While it wasn't extremely cold outside, it didn't mean that it felt pleasant either. It was nice to come in from the cold, grey winter. He saw a pair of big brown eyes peek out at him from the kitchen. The little boy still held a wooden spoon which he had been using to drum on several pots and pans littering the kitchen floor. Cross stood up from a sofa near the fireplace and walked over to greet him. His friend was looking much cleaner than usual. He wore a white button-down shirt and tie, well-pressed black slacks, and what looked like a new pair of boots. Gone were the cheap, ruffled costume shirts that Mana had grown accustomed to seeing. The woman took his coat as Cross introduced him.
"Mother," stated Cross, "this is Mana. He was in the circus with me-"
"You have a mother?" interrupted Mana. This was the first time he had heard anything of the sort. Last thing he knew his mother had taken little orphan Cross in out of what he supposed was the kindness of her heart, condemning him to live in the Clan's strange shadowy realm. The woman had even given Cross his first name. This woman didn't look anything like his tall, auburn-haired friend.
"No," responded Cross looking flustered. "It's just that... well, everyone calls her Mother."
"You may do the same, Mana," quipped Mother.
"Oh," replied Mana. "Okay."
Cross ran a hand through his hair. Although it was tied back in a ponytail, a few strands still hung in his face. His friend had never been able to keep those strands out of his face, and Mana doubted that would ever change. "That's Bubba over there in the kitchen," continued Cross.
"Hi," chimed in the boy, waving politely at him from the doorway.
Mother walked over to Bubba and herded him further into the kitchen. "I'm going to start making dinner," she said. "Do you boys want anything to drink?"
Mana was about to say yes, but Cross held up a hand to silence him. "Perhaps at dinner, but we're fine for now," he responded.
Mother shut the kitchen door, leaving them alone in the front room. Mana pouted, for he would really have liked to have a drink to calm his nerves. He had never been in a church before, let alone a church in his home country- a place to which he had sworn to never return. The banging noise began again, signaling that Bubba had returned to composing his little symphony. Cross walked back over to the sofa, gesturing for him to take a seat. Mana sat down in an armchair next to the sofa.
"Why are we meeting in a church?" he asked quietly. He wanted some answers.
"It's not used as a church anymore," replied Cross. "Mother owed me a favor, so I decided to collect on it. I'm in a bit of a tight spot right now, and I can't move as freely."
"A tight spot?" questioned Mana. "What happened? I heard from Sanjiv about what had happened in Sicily. Where did you go after that?"
Cross' left eye twitched. "It's because of that stupid Khann," he muttered.
"Who?"
"Indivar Khanna," repeated Cross. "He's an exorcist with the Black Order. He saw Sanjiv in Sicily and recognized him as a member of the Bookman Clan. Unfortunately, I was talking to him at the time, so the bastard blackmailed me into joining the Order after the attack."
"You joined the Black Order?" inquired Mana. He stood up and backed away from his friend. Mana knew that Cross had never cared to be involved in the secret war, so the fact that he'd joined the opposing side...
He was terrified. There was a chance that someone from the Black Order could be listening to their conversation right now. Mana felt like he didn't even know Cross anymore. So, he did the only logical thing: he ran for the door.
It appeared that Cross had been prepared for this for he jumped over the back of the sofa and tackled him to the ground. The banging noise stopped. "Are you boys alright out there?" asked Mother.
"Yes," said Cross.
Mana struggled as he tried to break away from Cross' grasp. "Let me go!" he hissed.
"No," snapped Cross. "You'll just run away if I do."
"Are you trying to capture me?" questioned Mana. He considered biting Cross' arm but thought that it might backfire. Cross could easily elbow him in the stomach, rendering him unconscious.
"Why the hell would I do that?" asked Cross.
Mana tried pulling Cross' arm in a funny position, hoping his friend would let go. It didn't work, though. Cross was much stronger than he looked. "Because you're with the Black Order," he replied.
"I don't want to be 'with' the Black Order," seethed Cross. "Didn't you listen to the part that I was forced to join? Plus, I'm not going to turn you in. I would have tracked you down on the mainland if I wanted to do that. It would be much easier than making a trek to Great Britain."
Mana stopped struggling and pushed Cross off of him. "Whatever," he grumbled. "Just tell me what you wanted to say so I can get out of here."
"Fine," responded Cross. His friend pulled him back over to the armchair and sat him down. "I suppose you haven't been following any newspapers while abroad."
"I've never followed the news," replied Mana. "What the hell would I need news for as a circus performer? I can't even read more than half of the newspapers I see on a daily basis."
"I thought not," stated Cross. He pulled out a newspaper clipping from his pant pocket. "I thought you might want to know that your mother passed away."
"Oh," said Mana. He didn't know what to think at that moment. Sure, he was angry at his mother for aligning herself with the Earl and the Clan of Noah. He had spent the last eight years trying to forget everything about her: he aristocratic nature, her sense of self-importance, her self-consciousness, her perfectionism, her reddish-brown hair, her silver eyes, her smile...
He'd never been able to be completely angry at his mother. It had frustrated him to no end the way his memory of his mother conflicted with his reality. She was his enemy, a woman who wouldn't care what the Clan did to him if they ever should catch him. His mother also was a woman so caught up in the past that she didn't notice the one child who had always stood beside her. Even if his brother was evil, he deserved better than that. But his mother had also loved him, Neah, and Rory so dearly. It was present on her face whenever no one of importance was watching. He couldn't forget it.
"Also," continued Cross, "it appears that your brother ran into a spot of trouble somewhere along the way. A known anarchist blew up the manor."
"What?" inquired Mana. Cross offered him the newspaper clipping which he took immediately. He scanned the tiny newsprint with his eyes. It talked of a rally in a town close to the manor and about how the suspect had evaded police. They said he snuck through the back door, attacked a maid, and then proceeded to set up some explosives in the main hall. The suspect then used the kerosene kept for the lamps to create an ignition trail. In the end, he committed suicide by blowing the building up with him. Law enforcement suspected it was because Walker Manor was so close, and since everyone knew that Neah would be alone in the household. If only the anarchist had known that a simple explosion couldn't kill his brother.
"They didn't interview my brother," stated Mana.
"Well obviously he's dead in their eyes," responded Cross. "Until he can come up with an excuse as to why he survived unscathed, he's no longer living."
"Right," said Mana. "Is Sophia..."
Cross was silent for a minute, his brown eyes staring intently into the fire. Mana could see the shadows of guilt plainly on his face. "They haven't found a body," replied Cross. "The men who investigated the incident found a mop and a broom in the hall, so they believe she was in the house during the explosion. Plus, she probably would have shown up somewhere if she was still alive."
Mana turned his eyes to the floor. Maybe his brother had done something to deserve this, but Sophia was only a kid. He clenched his fists by his sides. "I'll kill him if I ever see him again," he mumbled.
"No you won't," remarked Cross. "You're too much of a pansy to actually kill someone."
"I'm not a pansy!" spat Mana.
"You are too," retorted Cross. He stared directly into his eyes. "You would have run all the way to London and swam the English Channel if I hadn't stopped you."
He remained silent, knowing that Cross was right. A knock came from the front door, and his friend went to answer it. Sanjiv walked inside, brushing a few snowflakes off of his cloak.
"I didn't see any signs of anyone affiliated with the Earl in town," he the young Bookman said. "It seems that Bookman was able to buy us some time."
"That's good," stated Cross. He walked back over to the fireplace. "I need your opinion on something, Sanjiv."
Sanjiv hung his cloak on a rack by the door. "I'm not in the consultation business."
"But you are interested in anything dealing with the war, especially anything pertaining to a certain Noah," replied Cross. "I found the ignition for the explosion when I went to the Manor."
"You actually went back there!" exclaimed Mana. He thought that his friend would never think of returning to his home of servitude.
"I wanted to investigate," responded Cross, turning to face him. "Anyhow, I found this box of matches under a pile of debris. Have you seen them before?"
Cross pulled out a cloth holding the rather charred box. Sanjiv walked up to him to take a closer look. Mana craned his neck to look at them, too.
"Those are pretty expensive matches," he said.
"They're the kind that you buy in a tobacco shop," replied Cross. "However, I found out from talking to some of the anarchists associates-"
"You're going to get yourself deported from Great Britain doing that," interrupted Mana, bringing a hand to his head.
"Shut up for a moment," snapped Cross. "As I was saying, I found out that Mr. McFarland didn't smoke."
"In that case he should have bought matches elsewhere," responded Sanjiv. "He wouldn't have gone into a tobacco shop to buy matches if he wasn't there to buy tobacco."
"Take a look at the matchbox itself," declared Cross. "It has an advertisement for the James J Fox and Robert Lewis tobacco shop in London. Now, I can remember a certain Noah who had a strong affinity for that shop. He snuffed one of his cigarettes out on my arm one time. It hurt like hellfire."
Mana immediately knew who Cross was talking about. "Uncle Tykki put out one of his cigarettes on your arm?" he asked. "That's disgusting."
"That's not the point!" sighed Cross. He ran a hand through the los strands of his hair, but they flopped back into his face. "I'm trying to say that these matches belong to Tykki!"
It took only a second for him to register this statement. Sanjiv's face changed to an expression of mild interest. "Why would Uncle Tykki want to destroy my brother's house?" questioned Mana.
"I don't know," answered Cross. "I haven't figured that part out yet."
"It's true that those matches came from Tykki Mikk," stated Sanjiv. "I'm not convinced that he was the one to use them."
"Somehow I thought you'd have something more to say about this," said Cross. "What do you know?"
"If I'm not mistaken," began the young Bookman, "which I'm usually not, then Tykki Mikk made a gift of those matches to your brother along with a pack of cigarettes."
"So we're back to square one," groused Mana. "The anarchist McFarland picked the matches up inside the house to ignite a fire and cause the explosion."
"No," replied Sanjiv. "That's not the only possibility. There were two other people in the house: Sophia-"
"If Sophia set the house on fire, how the fuck did a dead anarchist end up on the floor?" inquired Cross bitterly.
"Sophia was scared of practically everything," agreed Mana. "There's no way she killed a man, dragged his corpse into the house, and then set the manor on fire."
"I wasn't done yet," groused Sanjiv. "Both of those facts eliminate Sophia from the suspect list. However, your brother was also home. He's the only one besides Sophia who would have known exactly where to find the matches."
"So you think my brother burnt down his own estate," said Mana.
"Yes," stated Sanjiv.
Mana really had to ask the obvious question. "Why?"
"I'd have to ask him," responded Sanjiv. "It goes completely beyond the scope of reasonable thought."
"He'd be capable of killing an anarchist," commented Cross. "He could also use the Ark to transport the body without being seen. The question is what is he planning to do now."
Sanjiv nodded. He appeared to be deep in thought. Mana's head hurt just trying to wrap his mind around the logistics. It was entirely possible that his brother had managed to blow up his own house and frame someone else. The time it must have taken, though, to figure out everything so as not to leave a trace... Apparently his brother had taken his studies more seriously after he had run away.
It still wasn't certain that it had indeed been Neah's doing. Until his brother reappeared he doubted that anyone would know. There was also that conversation his Uncle Tykki had had with Sanjiv back in Paris. It appeared that his family hadn't known about Neah's potential plan either. Neah would never have kept this a secret from the Clan. Unless something had changed...
Mother poked her head out of the kitchen door to look at the three boys. "Dinner is ready," she said.
"Thanks," replied Cross. He walked over to the kitchen, Sanjiv following a few steps behind. Mana stood to follow him and Sanjiv. He was glad, though, that he had been sitting, for the old woman pulled her cane out from behind her and whacked Cross over the head.
"Ow!" shouted Cross. "What the hell was that for?"
"You didn't tell me that you were having two friends over," responded Cross. She hit him over the head again. "At least warn me beforehand next time. Also, don't swear in front of Bubba."
"I'm sorry, ma'm," stated Sanjiv. He eyed the cane a bit warily. "I just happened to be in town when I ran into Mana. He told me that Cross was staying here, so I thought that I might as well-"
"You don't have to lie to me, boy," Mother interrupted. "Khanna already told me all about you."
Both Cross and Sanjiv paled considerably. It was impressive that the Mother had managed to get a reaction out of Sanjiv, although not as good as the one in Venice. Mana might have laughed if he were not afraid of being hit over the head just like Cross. "Is that son-of-a... person here?" snarled Cross.
"No, he isn't," replied Mother. She put her cane back down on the ground and leaned on it. "He wrote to me about him. You have some nerve bringing a Bookman here, Cross. Khanna never comes up to Liverpool unless it's absolutely necessary. He's pretty stingy with his travel money."
"I can imagine that," muttered Cross.
Mana sincerely hoped that he'd never meet this Khanna fellow.
"Anyhow, I'll be leaving soon," said Sanjiv. His face was now its usual color, all apprehension and surprise gone. "I don't even have to stay for dinner."
"You're here already, so you might as well eat with us," stated Mother. "I made extras. If you really want to make this up to me, then after dinner you boys can fetch me a bottle of red wine from town."
"Of course, Mother," said Cross.
Mana hoped that the red wine was for everyone. It would get the situation with his mother and his brother off of his mind, at least for a little while.
Okay, that took a lot longer to write than I thought. Plus, I lost yesterday to fun Fourth of July festivities (Happy belated Fourth of July to my readers from the US). I also had to look up the history of matches, Liverpool, and Paris for this chapter. Unfortunately I made a mistake last chapter giving Neah a matchbook: they weren't created until 1890. Therefore, I changed it to a box of matches. I believe I've learned something new for every chapter that I've written in this story. For those of you who've only seen the anime, I decided to use the version of Mother's 'house'- seriously, I don't know what to call it- that is seen in the manga. That is chapter 206 for those who've read it. I did use the location of Liverpool, though, that is mentioned in the episode. I don't believe that the manga named the city/town Mother lived in. Please review!