Metal Birds

Chapter 17: Home Again

London, England, December 1938

Wary eyes stared down from snowy eaves of an apartment building. The body that contained them was bundled thickly, letting out a breath of air that looked very much like a ghost in the late evening. The nose of this person was also very red, accompanied by rosy dark cheeks, and a quickly working mind.

One could have very easily mistaken the figure for a gargoyle or statue, but if one looked closer, they would notice the oddities. The angelic statue -perhaps, depending on the observer- would have very little snow on it, merely a dusting compared to those around it. It might also seem out of place, gripping to the window ledge on the side of the building, an uneven proportion of figures leaning down to look over the streets. One may also notice the color. A dark brown coat, a lightly shifting rosary, and a pale face with a two day beard, topped with a head of blonde hair that had gone momentarily unkempt. The wings on this figure's back would also be a golden blonde, and like the rest of the figure, shivering slightly.

This figure was none other than Arthur, perched against the wall of a building. It had been six years and a whole notebook of letters back and forth since he had been in London for more than a few hours, and even then, it had been six years since he had felt even the slightest bit homesick.

Two years previously, Arthur had been in the middle of re-educating himself on the ways of Nations when something very startling had happened. German forces had marched into the land around the edges of Czechoslovakia, before the troops halted as if making a clear claim to the territory.

It had been a practical heart attack, Felicyta and Henrik penning them letters the moment a German boot had passed closer to them, while Bella had broken into a melt down and Francis had seemingly gone into shock. Andries and Arthur had needed to calm all of them, and he was thankful for the halt in the advance.

Antonio -Spain- was also very ill. Deathly ill, depending on how things went. It hadn't been very long after the meeting when tensions in Spain had increased drastically, leaving Antonio open for anything. The Civil War itself had yet to falter, and had been going strong since early in 1936.

It was 1938 now.

He glanced up momentarily, not caring much that people were walking below.

No one ever looks up. That's what Francis had said.

He finally stood, shaking the clinging snowflakes from his feathers, before double checking that his satchel was still on his hip, and turning to face the Clock Tower along the Thames, and pausing.

The low hum of the bell rang out across the river, soon accompanied by the chimes and calls of many others. He smiled to himself, not at all minding of the fact that the sunset was covered by clouds, or that he could no longer feel his fingers. He took the moment to relish in the sound, before spreading his wings and taking his great feathers against the thin winter air.

Throughout the last four years, he had also taken time to work on his strength and endurance. Now, a flight from one side of France to the other was far from tiring, much less a flight from one side of the Thames and to Westminster Cathedral.

He came to the bell tower quickly, circling about until the final chime of seven o'clock had faded, before whisking in through the top.

He hit the floor with an audible thud, glancing up to see someone walking away slowly. As he hit the worn ground, the figure paused. By the time he had drawn his wings against his back, the man had turned.

Joshua stood there, staring back incredulously, before Arthur allowed an amused smile to come to his face. Joshua looked very different, older, clearly, and also having a mustache.