Metal Birds

Chapter 19: A Story (for Faith)

Paris, France and London England, February 1939

"Sometimes I wonder why we're here."

Andries stood at the upstairs balcony as Arthur read, and the question caused him to glance up.

Andries was the only one of them who smoked steadily, and he had a pipe balanced between his fingers. He would take in a puff every so often, before exhaling a heavy grey cloud of it. His eyes were sharp, staring past his similarly sharp nose and down at the street. It was mid-day, and surprisingly cloudy. It almost looked like it was going to rain. But still, Andries stood outside with a century old blue and white scarf about his neck, wings slumped to his sides, the doors cast wide open, smoking.

For a moment, Arthur was silent as the man cast him a look over his shoulder.

"What do you mean?"

Andries held the tip of the pipe to his mouth, staring down outside.

"Do you ever wonder what it would be like to be human?" He questioned, mostly to himself. "To have a family... to have kids. To not really have to worry about all of this."

"I don't know..." Arthur stated quietly, closing his book. He immediately thought of Joshua, Elizabeth and Hugh. And then, he thought of Marie.

Arthur blinked, pushing the book onto the table beside him with more force than he would have liked, and Andries cast another look back.

"What's with you?"

"Why must you always be so trivial?" Arthur replied, standing with a sigh.

"Why shouldn't I be?" Andries replied simply.

Arthur merely shrugged, and Andries turned to face Arthur, leaning against the cast iron railing.

"You've never thought of it?"

"Not really. I've just tried to enjoy it. I mean, at least there's more than just one of us. We're not immortal on our own." He threw up quotations as he said immortal.

Andries snorted.

"So you've never thought, not for one moment, about what it would be like to be human?"

"I mean, I have. I just don't dwindle on it."

"Huh."

"What?"

"What are we then? We aren't human. I don't think we're angels." He glanced at his pipe. "If we are, then I'm damned."

"If we are, then we're all damned." Arthur replied, turning to lean against the railing with the man.

"That's comforting." He chuckled wryly.

Arthur shook his head. "Honestly, I find death terrifying."

"We all do, though."

"Yeah, but I mean real death." Arthur stated. "I know we can die. But we don't stay dead. We wake up and hope we heal quickly."

"Yeah." He hummed. "It keeps getting worse every decade, doesn't it?"

"Warfare?"

"Yes."

"Yeah it does."

The two sat on in silence.

oOoOo

Three days later, Arthur was back at the cathedral.

"Do you have the slightest clue as to what Chamberlain is like?" Arthur questioned as he delved himself in the newspaper.

Marie was dusting the table across from him. The two were in the dining room, and the whole group seemed to have realized that Arthur would be in and out of the place very often.

"I think he's a good Prime Minister." Marie hummed.

"But what do you think he's like?"

"I don't know." She huffed, turning to glance up at him. "The only way you're going to know is if you get over your nervousness and talk to him, and the king."

"I can't just walk up to the palace or the parliament."

"Then fly there."

"And get shot?"

She shook her head. "Have you heard the story about the Angel of Britain?"

He went quiet, glancing up at her. "...no. This had better not be what I think it is."

Marie merely laughed, before moving around the table and sitting next to him. He turned, allowing the paper to fall to the table.

"That's a real shame, because it is." She stated, glancing up. He pursed his lips, and Marie began to speak.

"When I was growing up, the nuns in Dorchester would tell us little girls stories to get us to bed. And one of the longest ones that we always, always asked that they tell us was the story of the Angel of Britain."

"Alright." He started apprehensively, and she shook her head. He went quiet again.

"The Angel of Britain was born when God made the island. And God told him it was his job to teach the kings of his days how to rule the land in God's name. Just as it should be. But it was hard. More often then not, kings and queens used him against the people, and the people became very afraid of him. But he had never wanted to hurt the people. So, when time came, he didn't live in the palace. He didn't talk to leaders very often. Instead, he spoke with his people."

Arthur could feel his shoulders become slack with the accuracy of such a short, vague wives tale.

"The people of Britain came to realize that he was no threat. He represented them. He cared for them. He fought for them. And people had faith in their country as long as he was there. He helped people feel as if there wouldn't be any issue as long as he was there. And then one day... he vanished."

Arthur glanced down, his wings sloping, and she took his hand in her own, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"When I saw you here, I knew it wasn't all a story. That's why I never spoke to you in the beginning, because you mean so much to me. You mean so much to everyone here. Now, I've heard and told this story at least a thousand times. We've all done our part making sure the path is clear for you. You must take the opportunity to make this more than just a story. When you even show your face, all of Britain will have faith."

oOoOo

He sat across the river, eyeing the parliament building with anxiety. He had perched himself on one of the many buildings that faced the brown stoned palace and clock tower. He held onto the ledge of the roof he was sitting on, before coming to stand and pace.

He was having a silent, inward battle of 'should I, or should I not?' and he thought of two things. He thought of Felycita's anxious tone over the phone, and Francis being disappointed in him. And he also thought of what Marie had told him. He was a story. A legend. He thought Alfred may have once mentioned the prospect, of being a legend.

He took in a breath, stepped back onto the ridge of the roof, and took a few quick steps forward before throwing himself into a low curve towards the water, before pulling up before he got too low, angling his wings against the wind in order to gain some height.

Arthur found himself become habitually nervous as he circled about above the place. He could see the birds rounding over the river, circling here and there, and he doubted he looked much different. He brought his arms to his chest, shifting around to go in for a narrow landing. He swept around, coming from the direction of the clock tower, before positioning his legs forward and his arms out in the case he were to fall forward.

And then he landed in the farthest courtyard.