Metal Birds

Chapter 10: A Word During Dinner

Luxembourg City, Luxembourg, August 1934

Waking up that evening was its own dismal prospect. Arthur's eyes drifted open slowly, heavy from a sleep that didn't seem to want to leave him. However, he found that his mind would not give in. He groaned, sitting up, and found himself surprised.

He was the first one awake. His brothers were cast on the dusty furniture, still asleep, most likely from the hours upon hours of flight. While their bodies were stronger than the average man, they tired out easily in extended flight. As he sat up, he stretched tiredly, shifting to spread his wings, pausing a moment to shift and sit forward, before continuing his stretch. He then slumped forward, leaning against the wobbly old chair to stare at the room.

The dust in the place was caught in beams of light, golden from the sun beginning to grow low in the sky. Arthur sighed, pulling his knapsack onto his lap as he admired to scene. The light and airy sound of crickets danced past his ears, and he closed his eyes momentarily. He had always enjoyed mid-evening, especially this time of day when everything was washed in gold and other warm colors. Things had always felt better, no matter how stressful his day was.

Arthur remembered choosing to sit in the bell tower around this time, watching the streets down below as people began to make their ways to their homes or automobiles, getting to a warm dinner or a comfortable couch, or in the case of recent years, gathering to line up on the street near the soup house and chatter about this and that while they waited, stomachs growling, doing their best to chin up.

The drop in economic production had caused a huge loss of industry, and at that, a loss of jobs, and then pay, and as it went around, money. People scraped by, and Arthur could feel it. Deep inside, he was very aware of the Depression that caused him to mope around, the reason the nuns were so dedicated on sewing and knitting, and cooking for the children in the orphanage down the street.

But he told himself to ignore it. It was a terrible thing, he knew, a horrible, terrible thing to ignore, but just like the people lined up around the corner, he had to chin up. He had to accept it as normalcy.

He wondered if Alfred was alright. Alfred, the American representation, would have been hit hard by it. It had been his government's fault, mostly, but even then, a lot of things had added up to it. A crash in the stock market. Tiny little tid-bits, overspending in celebration that the Great War was over, and spending from the Great War itself. He sighed inwardly, reaching into his bag. He'd eaten five, so far, leaving five left. They were beginning to grow stale, but it was all he had. He could get food when they finally got to Luxembourg. And Egypt too. Even then, he wanted to eat sparingly. They were a small thing, those biscuits, but in a way they meant a lot. Like a memory, almost.

He wouldn't say it aloud, but he missed working in the kitchens with Emelia and Josie. Even if he hadn't been gone that long, it was still a repetition he had found comfort in.

Arthur quickly realized he couldn't dwell, and with a soft huff of a sigh, he sighed and pulled on his bag, stepping to Dylan. He nudged Dylan's shoulder, pulling the white sheet off of him.

"Come on now, we only need to fly an hour longer and we can sleep all we want." He hummed, nudging the other again.

Dylan yawned, shifting away slightly before finally seeming to wake. As he did, Arthur drifted over to Seamus, who was gripping onto his coat like a stuffed bear. Arthur merely scoffed and pushed the other, causing him to groan and roll over, raising a hand to wave sleepily.

"Come on, wake up."

"No, no, five minutes."

"No, you need to wake up." He persisted.