Metal Birds

Chapter 41: Words for Brothers

Cairo, Egypt, October 15, 1940

The next place was somehow even smaller, more confining, wedged between a first floor shop and a third floor family that watched them shuffle up the narrow stairs with silent, staring eyes. Arthur didn't feel unnerved, at least, not very much. He felt far too wary about everyone and everything, and he found himself staring out the narrow slit of a window of that squashed second floor.

It was a tiny thing, that made him feel all too small as he stared out it, for only his shoulders could barely fit through. There were three of them, but he sat at the one on the far right, lips pursed and chapped even as he sipped dejectedly on some water. He felt better though. His head no longer ached, and he didn't feel as if he'd swallowed half the desert. He was sunburned though. Badly. And the burns from the bombings still stung and ached.

He sat there in his undershirt, his military coat cast on the back of the chair he was sitting at, while he thumbed through the tiny bible in search of whatever comfort he could gather.

"Get away from there. Someone might see you."

Those words stirred Arthur from his thoughts, and he glanced back over at his brother. Imhotep was asleep in the neighboring room, leaving the two alone to sulk, or whatever they wished, as long as they remained out of sight. Arthur stared at his brother for a moment.

Seamus looked exhausted, his shoulders and wings slumped low to the floor. His feathers and his hair were unkempt, at least more than usual, and his goatee was beginning to climb the sides of his jaw. He had a cigarette in hand, sitting just out of the light as the other two windows had been cast open, his boots thrown aside by the door.

"Throw that thing away then." Arthur waved a hand, glancing away from the man and back down towards the streets.

"No." Was the stubborn reply, and Arthur felt himself tense.

He and his brothers hadn't necessarily gotten along. Not all the time. When they fought, it was as if the whole world had cracked in two and both were determined to make it standing on their sides, shouting and hollering and sometimes tossing things over the divide to make their point clear.

"Don't start anything." Arthur snorted, leaning forward to cross his arms on the windowsill, burying his chin there. He held up one of his arms, still holding the bible as he read absentmindedly. He cast a glance at Seamus out the corner of his eye, and he heard the Irishman sigh.

"Not that I want to. Why'd you come?"

"To help Imhotep. And to get away from Francis and Matthew."

There was a small pause.

"Francis is with you? You told us all that the kraut'd gotten him."

"He only just arrived. A little while after Matthew. He looks terrible. You can hear him muttering to himself all day. I don't know how long he was running for, but he said he was out there for a while."

"...damn." Seamus puffed on the cigarette, letting out a heavy breath. "Sounds tough."

"Why're you here then? I thought you didn't want to get involved." Arthur turned slightly to look at him, brow quirked to indicate his confusion.

Seamus shrugged, letting out another breath of smoke. To Arthur, it looked a lot like a ghost. "I guess, with everything happening in London and all... when I got word of what was happening here, I knew you'd have your hands full."

"Well... thanks for that. I guess." Arthur huffed, bringing the tiny bible to place on his knee as he closed his eyes absentmindedly.

"Uh-huh."