Fallen (2 page)

I awoke the following morning to my father
singing a hymn as he shaved over a basin half filled with water.
“It’s about time you got up. We’re coming to port today,” he said.
“Isn’t it exciting, Brody?”

I shook off my night terrors and nodded. The
sun shone through our porthole, reassuring me that all was well. My
father and I dressed and prepared our things for departure. Father
searched the small cabin.

“Do we have everything?” he asked.

“Yes sir, I believe so.”

“Good. Then we’ll go up on deck and watch
the captain bring the ship to port,” he said.

We disembarked shortly after finding a place
on deck and began our trek through the city. The streets were
crowded. An odor assaulted our senses coming into the city
proper—sweat mingled with decay.

I remained directly behind my father as we
weaved through the crowd. On several occasions, pedestrians bumped
me as my father stepped to the side on his way. I nearly toppled to
the ground, but rather than apologize for their rudeness, they
glared at me or told me to watch where I was going.

My father occasionally apologized for my
missteps, but soon began to ignore the remarks as they became more
frequent. A river of people, wearing tall hats and bonnets,
meandered along both sides of the street while horses drew black
and brown carriages down the cobble roads. Faces passed too quickly
to observe details, though large sideburns and mustaches appeared
all the rage.

I noticed a gathering in a square ahead of
us. “Father, what is that up there?”

“I’m not sure,” he said. We veered toward
the place until we observed a large wooden gallows which had been
erected there. A man stood upon it, reading charges aloud for the
crime of pick-pocketing. The accused stood below a fresh cut beam
with a length of rope cinched about his neck. He appeared, to me,
to be only a boy, perhaps a few years older than myself. His arms
had been tied behind his back, however his face remained exposed
for all to view.

My father tried to hasten us away from the
scene. “There’s no need for us to watch this, Brody.” He started
away. I noticed tears streaking across the boy’s dirty cheeks,
creating the only clean places on him. “Brody!”

I started from my amazement and turned to
find my father giving me a stern look. “Time to move on, son.”

I stole another glance at the convicted boy
then walked after my father. The crowd flowed in behind me to see
the spectacle. Many people shouted accusations and curses at the
boy thief. The crowd seemed to all be of the same opinion. He
deserved to die for his crimes.

I caught up with my father and heard the
lever pulled on the gallows behind me. My head jerked back to it as
the floor beneath the boy gave way. He dropped, his neck pulling
all the slack from the rope. His feet kicked and his eyes bugged
from their sockets as his mouth flew open, unable to utter a sound
against the sudden pain. Seeing the thief struggle, other young
boys, waiting below the gallows, latched onto his legs, pulling him
down harder until he moved no more.

I could not believe what I had just
witnessed. My breathing grew heavy. My father patted my back to
reassure me. “Sin carries a heavy price, Brody…never forget
that.”

I wanted to be away from London that very
moment. Still, my eyes stole glances at the sight from inside my
father’s coat. I saw no one there mourning for the boy’s demise.
Didn’t he have a father and mother who cared at all? The hangman
lowered the body for those below who then took charge of it. The
crowd began to disperse and go back to business as usual, as though
no one had just died before their eyes.

My father hailed a carriage and placed our
bags inside. He helped me up first then climbed in after. The
driver sat in front of us, holding the reins on two fine looking
black mares with feather plumes on top of their bridles. “Where to,
sir?” he asked with a thick accent.

“We should like to exchange some currency,”
my father replied. “Could you take us to a bank nearby?”

The driver turned slightly toward us. “Of
course, sir. I know just the one.” He snapped his reins and set us
off through the streets, our carriage vibrating upon the laid
stones. The metronome of hoof-clops lulled me as I tried to put the
images of the hanging out of my thoughts.

Rows of shops passed by on either side where
ladies in fancy dresses and finely dressed gentlemen spent their
wares. I wondered at taller structures which rose behind them;
especially a cathedral with stone columns and images of saints cut
from polished stone. The bells chimed four times from a high tower,
alerting the populace as to the time of day.

When we arrived at the bank building, I
noticed how impressive it was—grey stone and marble columns,
polished brass doorknobs upon mahogany paneled doors. The carriage
stopped in front and my father paid the driver with a little money
sent to him by Mr. Thomas to be used until he acquired his own
currency. The driver tipped his hat gratefully. “Thank you, sir.
Shall I wait for you?”

“No, but thank you.” My father helped me
down from the carriage. “I’m sure we’ll manage to catch another one
when we’re ready.”

We stepped away just as a young gentleman
and his lady summoned the carriage from down the street. The driver
gave the reins a slight snap and the horses drew the carriage
toward them.

I followed my father to the doors and
noticed a man staring at us. He stood with his back against the
bank building dressed in well-worn clothes and a cap. He hadn’t
shaved recently and had dark circles under his eyes. His piercing
blue eyes watched my father as he opened the door to the bank and
stepped inside. His gaze turned to me, grinning. For some reason he
made me shudder.

Following my father inside the bank, I gazed
in wonder at the finery of it. Brass fixtures, polished wood and
stately marble loomed everywhere my eyes fell. The clerks dressed
in tailored suits and many wore wire spectacles upon their
noses.

My father conducted his business with a
teller while I roamed close by. I found a seating area and sank
into one of the leather chairs provided. It smelled quite nice and
was incredibly comfortable. I rubbed the leather arms and watched
the glinting sunlight play upon the great chandelier crystals.
London’s citizens marched on outside the tall windows.

My father woke me from my daydreaming once
he had concluded his business. “Come along, Brody. We’ll find
something to eat and then look up Mr. Thomas.” I hopped out of my
comfortable chair and followed him back outside. Once we had
reached the street again, my father began looking for an available
carriage. I looked back to the man standing against the wall and
found him looking at my father again. He noticed me staring and
averted his eyes.

“I suppose we could walk a bit and find a
pub or somewhere to get a bite,” my father said. “Let’s try down
this way.” We merged with the flow of people going our way and were
off, keeping pace with the human river.

After some time in our wandering, my father
stopped and took stock of where we had come. “Honestly, Brody, I’m
not quite sure how to get around this city.”

“Perhaps, Father, if we—”

Someone stepped close and interrupted.
“Pardon me, sir, are you having trouble finding your way?”

I looked up to find the same gentleman in
the shabby clothing that had been standing outside the bank
building earlier. He glanced at me, flashing that same devilish
grin. My father shook his hand, thankful for any assistance he
could gain.

“Yes sir, my son and I would be most
grateful for some help finding a place to eat,” he said.

“Of course, I’d be happy to show you an
excellent place and not so bad on the cost neither.” The man smiled
at my father, revealing his yellow teeth. “This way, sir.”

My father followed after the man. “Praise
the Lord for a bit of help, eh Brody?”

I thought to warn him, to cry out my
misgivings in some way. But what would I have said? I still don’t
know. I had no reason not to trust the man except for his
appearance and the menace I saw in his eyes. My only regret now is
that I did not see the end of my silence at the time.

We followed the man through the streets. He
moved quickly through the throng. My father kept his pace, meaning
not to lose sight of our guide in this strange city. This path took
us into less comely portions of London and then from the main
street altogether.

“Come along. We’re nearly there, sir.” The
man turned down what seemed to be an alley. It ran between two tall
buildings. The sun shone less here in cramped quarters. Dirty wash
water rained down from windows high above, catching some unaware.
Curses shouted back from the unfortunate. Laundry dried upon lines
stretched between the buildings and black rats scurried across our
way.

At this point my father began to wonder if
we had made a mistake. He stopped in the alley and called ahead to
our guide. “Friend, I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but are you
sure this is the way?”

The man stopped, turned and came back to
where we both stood holding our bags. Anger shone upon his face.
“I’ve taken the trouble to lead you about, trying to find you and
your whelp a bit of good food and drink, and you repay me with
accusations?”

“Sir, I meant no disrespect only—”

The man brandished a knife toward us. My
father put his hand out to guard me then shoved me behind him.
“Honestly, sir, I do apologize for any inconvenience we’ve caused
you. We will trouble you no more.” He turned me and started back
the way we had come, leaving the man standing in the alleyway alone
with his anger and his knife. But as we stepped toward the mouth of
the alley, where the two buildings met the street, another man
moved out from a doorway to bar our way.

He pulled a pistol and aimed it in our
direction. My father turned as our guide approached from behind.
“Let’s have those bags, shall we.”

He caught hold of my bag, tossing me into a
wall as he tore it from my hands.

“Brody!” My father attacked the man with the
knife. They scuffled and fell as the second man came upon them with
his gun. My father lay still on the ground as our guide pulled away
with blood on his hands. The knife stood in my father’s chest.

I screamed. The men noticed me again—shock
upon their faces. I got to my feet as one came for me and ran as
fast as I could down the alley away from where we had come from.
“Come back here you little wretch!” he shouted.

I heard the flintlock snap and the powder
discharge. The bullet hit the wall somewhere near me, but I didn’t
stop for anything. I simply ran with a lump in my throat and tears
in my eyes. I had no idea where I was going. What did it matter? My
father was dead.

I cannot say how long I ran. I saw unknown
faces of every sort as I passed between buildings through streets
full of carriages where my tears mingled with the mud. I saw no one
in this awful place whom I could trust. All of them, I supposed,
were in on the murder of my father. No one had offered help—none
but the villains. I felt utterly alone in a strange city with no
hope.

In what seemed like no time at all, darkness
settled upon the city. Dark clouds moved in overhead and brought
showers. I found myself exhausted, walking through a muddy lane as
rain soaked through my clothes. The wet fabric chafed my skin. In
some way, I didn’t even care if I caught my death from the
cold.

The chill forced me out of the open. I
sought refuge, but found no place open to me. I turned down another
alley, but stood at the mouth of it afraid to venture in. For all I
knew, this had been the same place where those villains had led my
father intending to rob us. I feared that I might wander across my
father’s body still lying in the mud where he’d been left
murdered.

Lightning illuminated the alley before me.
Seeing no one, I walked inside and found an overhanging doorway.
The little porch happened to be just large enough to keep the
downpour off me. I settled in as close to the door as possible and
sat down upon the cold stoop. I shook as the chill overtook me. My
teeth chattered loudly. I tried to draw my small coat around me,
but it too was soaked with cold rain and did little good.

I fixed my eyes ahead and drew my cap down
close to my eyes. Lightning flashed and thunder rolled across the
cloudy sky. I huddled, waiting. I did not know for what—death
perhaps. Without my father, it seemed inevitable now.

I soon became acutely aware that I hadn’t
eaten in some time. My belly groaned with desire for a few morsels
of anything. I observed garbage strewn here and there in the alley.
Rats weren’t even out bothering it here in the rain. I had
difficulty imagining myself actually going over and eating anything
I saw. I wasn’t
that
hungry yet.

A faint light caught my attention from the
direction of the street. I peered through the rain washing off of
the overhang. The light emanated from what I could only call a
window of sunshine within the storm. It appeared as though another
place sat wrapped inside a bubble where the rain could not
fall.

I wondered at the sight fully convinced I
must be hallucinating. Perhaps I had grown just hungry enough to
begin seeing mirages. I had heard of such things from my
father—tales of men crawling across desert wastes thirsting so
badly for water that their desires materialize in visions only to
disappear as they prepare to fill their bellies.

The rain had strengthened in intensity and I
remained reluctant to run toward the oasis. Then I saw what
appeared to be a human figure, blurry at first, but then coming
into sharper focus. I could not be sure, but this person appeared
to be wearing a white robe with gold glinting from his middle. I
knew I must be imagining it all, so it did not disturb me so much
when I perceived two great wings unfurl with light emanating from
them. He lit upon the ground in his strange world and immediately
appeared altogether different—more like a normal person.