"Mum!"

She did not answer, and he knelt next to her, gently shaking the shoulder not covered in blood.

"Mum, wake up!"

Her eyes never opened, even when he shook her shoulder again. She was hurt bad, as Father would say. She needed help.

Father would know how to help her. Father knew everything, so Tim ignored the screaming horse to join the grown-ups digging through the wreckage. The noise was loud, and scary, but his father would make everything better. He always made everything better. Mum missed him every time he left, and she was always smiling whenever he returned. She would wake up for Father.

Father's friends had tried to jump him free of the cab, and Dawson struggled to free his leg as Tim moved closer. Part of the cab pinned it to the cobblestones, but the debris refused to move when Tim pushed on it.

"It's alright, son," Dawson said. "Are you hurt?"

Tim shook his head. "But Mummy is. Father needs to help her."

Dawson made a face Tim could not understand, and he shifted slightly to the left. "Your father's hurt, too. Someone has already gone for help. Stay close."

Unable to find his father, he picked his way through the debris to his mum, and an adult in a strange outfit hurried toward them when he failed to wake her yet again.

"Thompson!" the man called immediately, and another man, this one carrying a large bag, nearly leaped out of a different cab to rush across the street. Wary of the strangers, Tim crept back against the wall.

Thompson examined the source of the blood, then pressed two fingers to the side of his mum's neck. The adult sadly shook his head, murmuring something Tim could not discern. Both men stood, and Thompson moved away while the uniformed man slowly approached Tim.

"My name is Stanley," he said gently, kneeling between Tim and his mum. "What's yours?"

He hesitated, watching. Mummy had warned him not to trust strangers, but she had also said to go to the police if he ever needed help. He needed help waking his mum. Was this man police?

The man's hat caught his eye. Mum had laughed when he compared the funny hat to a soup bowl, but she had said all police wore the same hat. He was probably police, Tim decided, and that meant he should give his big name.

"Timothy," he said quietly.

"Hello, Timothy," Stanley replied. "Were you hurt?"

He shook his head. "But Mummy is. Why aren't you helping her?"

"Because—" He broke off, swallowing. "Because she's not here anymore. The accident hurt her real bad. Do you have a father?"

He nodded, pointing toward where Thompson knelt next to Dawson. "He was with Mr. Dawson, but now I can't find him."

Thompson and another policeman steadied Dawson to his feet, and the sailor used the policeman's help to limp away from the wreckage as Thompson moved pieces of the cab aside. He paused once, touching something, then bowed his head and dug somewhere else. He bowed his head again and stood after a moment, and a noise brought Tim's attention back to Stanley.

"Do you have any other family? A brother or sister, maybe?"

"Jenny," he answered quietly. "And Daniel and Daisy, but Daisy's sick, so they didn't come."

"Where do they live?"

He shrugged, looking over as more officers gathered where Dawson had been. They lifted a familiar shape onto a stretcher, and he glimpsed a splint peeking from under one pant leg.

"Father!"

Stanley lunged, but Tim dodged the hand to dart towards his father. The officers did not readjust in time to prevent him from seeing the blood on his father's neck.

"Father!"

A hand landed on his shoulder, and Stanley quickly stepped in front of him, blocking his view. He fought to break free.

"Father! Wake up, Father! You need to wake up and help Mummy!"

There was no answer, and Stanley quickly picked him up and carried him a few feet away from the wreck.

"I'm sorry, son. Your father is hurt, too. They'll try to help him, but I need to get you to your sister."

Stanley sat him on a low wall with Tim's back to the accident, but Tim wanted to return to his mum. He wiggled until Stanley let go, and the adult let out a shout when Tim immediately hopped to the ground and bolted back the way they had come.

His father had let out a shout like that once, just before Tim's play had gotten him in trouble, and Tim dodged the adult yet again, now more focused on getting away than reaching his parents. He never liked being in trouble, and Billy had said it was even worse to be in trouble with the police. With his father on the litter and his mum refusing to wake up, Tim dodged Stanley once more then ran as fast as he could in the other direction.

"Hey! Wait!"

Footsteps pounded behind him, but the adult could not navigate the crowd as well as Tim could. He weaved through the sea of legs until the buildings opened to his left, then he dove into the narrow alley too small for Stanley to follow.

"Timothy! Come back!"

No. Not if going back got him in trouble. It was bad enough to be in trouble with Father. He had no wish to be in trouble with the police.

The alley opened to a small side street. He ran with the crowds until the buildings opened again, then darted through the next alley. Five minutes later found him on a main thoroughfare, out of breath and completely lost.

This might not have been the greatest idea.

It was better than being in trouble, he told himself, at least for now. He would try to find Jenny. His big sister would get him out of trouble, and she might be able to wake Mum and Father.

He started walking, studying his surroundings as he tried to find his way home. They had not been walking for long before the cab accident, but the detour to post the letter had taken them off their normal route. He struggled to recognize the streets he had never noticed anyway. Three turns placed him on sidewalks more confusing than familiar, and continued attempts got him nowhere but more confused. How had his mum gotten them anywhere?

He had no idea, and wondering would not help him now, with his stomach beginning to growl. "Worry about what you can change," Mum had said. While he could not do anything about being lost, he might be able to do something about finding food. What would his mum do if she were here?

She had taken him to a bakery yesterday when he had gotten hungry away from home, he remembered, but the man behind the counter had asked for coins, something he had never seen. He had heard jingling from her hand as she exchanged something for two muffins, and other grown-ups had done the same thing. Bread needed coins, but searching his pockets revealed only lint, the rock he had saved, and a piece of string. Whatever a 'coin' was, he did not have it.

So that idea was out. He wandered the sidewalk, searching for a way to get something to eat. Where could he find coins? Could he get food without coins? He did not need coins at home, but he did not know where home was. The grumbling from his middle was growing louder.

Something glinted in the sidewalk, and he looked closer. A small, round, shiny thing lay between the cobblestones, shimmering in his hand when he pried it free. It looked like a smaller version of the shiny things he had seen on his father's desk. Maybe it was a coin for kids? He had a chair that was his size. Why not a coin? He followed the smell of baking bread to a shop on the next street, and the door jingled behind him.

"Hello," the man behind the counter greeted him. "What can I do for you, son?"

He put the shiny thing on the counter. "What can I buy with this?" he asked. "It's a little coin, right?"

The man nodded. "Aye, it's a coin. A 'mite,' it's called. You can get one of anything on the bottom shelf."

A finger gestured to the lowest shelf behind the glass, and Tim looked over everything before pointing towards the back row. The large piece of bread was the only thing on the shelf not sweet, and Mum had always told him that sweets never silenced a grumbling middle.

"Can I have that, please?"

The man frowned, eyeing Tim even as he put the piece of bread in a bag. "Are you sure, son? You could buy a piece of cake for that mite."

Tim shook his head. "Mum says sweets don't fix grumbling. I'm hungry. I want the bread."

The baker made no reply, watching Tim leave with his bread, and Tim disregarded the adult's confusion as he took a large bite. The bread was fresh, and it tasted amazing with how hungry he was. The piece disappeared much too quickly, leaving Tim better than where he had been but still rather hungry. He started looking for another coin.

The sidewalk outside the bakery revealed nothing, and he slowly scanned the cobblestones, watching for something shiny. When that produced nothing, he studied the intersection. Perhaps the sidewalk near the vendors would have some? Mum was always complaining about how easily she dropped the smaller stuff, and another mite would get him another piece of bread.

"Are you Timothy?"

The question came from behind him, and he spun away from digging after a shiny speck in the gutter to find a tall, thin man leaning against the bricks several feet away. The man slowly pushed himself away from the building, but he froze when Tim turned to run.

"Stay," he said quickly. "Please. I will not hurt you. My name is Mr. Holmes. Are you lost?"

Tim nodded slowly, watching. How did this man know his name?

"I am a…friend of Stanley's," Mr. Holmes said, hesitating strangely on one word. "He asked me to find you, saying something had scared you and you had run away."

Tim edged further down the sidewalk, still watching. "Trouble?"

Mr. Holmes quickly shook his head. "You are not in trouble, Timothy, with Gre—Stanley or anyone else. He said your parents were hurt, and he was trying to find your sister. You confused him when you ran away." Mr. Holmes smiled slightly. "Good job with that," he added. "I have been trying to confuse him for years."

A shy grin tried to escape. "Don't wanna be in trouble. Wanna go home, with Mummy and Father."

Mr. Holmes' expression changed minutely, but Tim had no idea what it meant. "You are not in trouble, Timothy, but I cannot send you with your parents. Where is your sister?"

Tim shrugged. "Dunno. Can't find home, either."

Mr. Holmes took a single step closer, getting out of the walkway before he knelt to be on Tim's level.

"I can help," he offered, "if you will let me. It is my job to find people, and you could stay with the Irregulars until I find her."

"What's the Irregulars?"

"A group of children," Mr. Holmes answered simply. "About fifty boys and girls live in a hidden courtyard east of my flat. A few of them are close to your age. They all say it is fun to live together, and you would be safe there."

"Do they have food?"

He nodded. "They do, and my landlady makes sweets for them occasionally. They would help you, take care of you until I find your sister."

"Why can't I go with Mum and Father?"

Mr. Holmes' mouth turned down a fraction, like Daniel's did when he was sad. "They did not want to leave you, Timothy, but the accident hurt them badly. They are no longer here."

A vague understanding suddenly bloomed. "You mean they're dead, like Gramma and Grandpa."

"Yes."

He did not answer immediately, thinking about that. "Can they come back?"

"No."

He thought for another moment, remembering how his mum had shoved him just before the cab hit. "Is it cuz of me?"

"No, Timothy. You could not have changed it."

Worry about what you can change, Mum had said. If he could not have changed it, then he should not worry about it.

"How long to find Jenny?"

"I will start looking today," Mr. Holmes promised, "but it might take me a few days to find her. The more you can tell me about her, the faster it will be. Will you walk with me while we talk? I asked a few of the Irregulars to wait for me at my home."

Mr. Holmes stayed where he was, waiting for Tim to decide, and Tim eventually nodded. A courtyard full of children his age sounded like a fun place to wait while Mr. Holmes looked for Jenny, and that was much better than searching for coins to buy food.

"Good," Mr. Holmes said. He slowly stood, and Tim walked a couple of feet away as Mr. Holmes led him down the sidewalk. Mr. Holmes sure had a lot of questions.

What do you think? Has anyone figured out who Stanley is, yet? (Hint, you've seen the first name once before, in Bah! Humbug 13) Don't forget to review! :)

MHC1987, (chuckle) You know I can't resist those.

Jean-Moddalle, I believe this chapter answered your question, and I'm glad you're enjoying :D