***

Chapter 1
Day One

Records of Events of the City of Durham

Monday 5^th July 2055

Weather: overcast, muggy, light breeze, 33°C (the man is out of the weather house)

Today Angelika Wojnowski (AW) was found dead on the banks of the river, near the weir and the collapsed bridge at the south end of the bailey. She was drowned and had bruising and cuts to her face and head. She was eight years old.

The alarm was raised, and Sheriff Emmanuel Kwame Addo (EKA) was called to the scene. EKA established that AW had been out playing with Archie Stephens (AS), a ten-year-old occasional playmate. AS was found nearby, playing with a toy boat in the river. He had mud and blood stains on his clothes consistent with the scene of AW's murder, as well as scratches on his arms and face. He was taken to the Sheriff's Office in the castle by EKA immediately for collection of evidence.

We now await further instructions from Chief MacKenzie and the council.

A family of deer were observed again early this morning by Peter Halkin on the green next to the river where he keeps his cows. Rumours of wolves on the derelict Hild & Bede site opposite remain unconfirmed. Likely the sheep on Whinney Hill were in fact mauled by wild dogs or foxes.

The proposed council meeting to discuss the potential construction of a defensive barricade or gate structure on Saddler Street has been postponed owing to the incident with AW.

City Recorder: Mr James Martin

***

Manny led Archie into his office with a gentle hand on the boy's shoulders. Whether or not he wanted to be angry, or upset, or anything else, neither his body nor mind could currently muster the emotion. He felt strangely numb, like having slept funny on his entire body and being consumed head to toe by pins and needles.

"Have you ever been to this part of the castle before, Archie?" he heard himself ask. The boy shook his head, stood still and passive in the middle of the room, as Manny felt his way into an ancient armchair that swallowed him as he sat down. This had surely once been an academic's office.

Sitting down helped. Manny got a feel for the groundedness of his body; his feet on the floor, hands on the arm of the chair, body supported by the cushions. Things seemed a bit more real again. He remembered being a scared little boy, only having turned eleven years old not more than a week or two before, and Jake teaching him this technique; to sit and breathe and feel his body, the furniture that supported it, and the room around it. It was a way to remind himself that he was real, and the nightmares weren't. This was of course the irony. Manny had seen dead bodies before. He was well aware of the reality of mortality. Yet, there was something surreal about having seen Angelika just now; having examined her frail body, the colour fading from her skin as he worked; having mapped out and sketched everything about the place where she lay. Then, when he was just about finished, someone had finally got hold of her mother, and he felt every tremor of the screaming and the wailing and the fissure of grief, there on the quiet riverbank as the breeze brought small relief from the sweaty summer's day and the moorhens bobbed by on the honey-glazed water.

Then Dan Turner appeared from around the corner, just upriver, bellowing and dragging an unkempt, shell-shocked little boy by the neck. His skin sparkled with sweat, the uncanny shimmer of it catching Manny's eye as Dan marched down the bank, overheated from the humidity and his unbridled fury. Dan had held the boy around his neck; he seemed only barely to be restraining himself from beating Archie to a pulp. Had Angelika's mother computed what was going on, surely she too would have come for the boy – wanted to tear him limb from limb – but she was too busy sobbing into her daughter's still chest, on all fours on the banks of the Wear. Mary Stanley and Rob Clifford, Manny's occasional deputies, grabbed Archie by his wrists, too. He'd flopped onto his knees on the grass as soon as Dan Turner had let go of him, his body completely overwhelmed. But Manny, though his head was already swimming with the moorhens, had somehow calmly taken Archie from them, placed a hand on his shoulders, and began to lead him away. He had Mary and Rob clear the way ahead of him, up the steep slope to the castle, emerging with the mammoth cathedral to his right and the castle gates to his left. There weren't even too many people around; it was the back way as well as being the shortest route.

He watched Archie, stood before him in the middle of the office not knowing what to do with himself. Manny didn't know what to do with him either. He'd sent word with Mary and Rob to Chief MacKenzie, leaving him alone with Archie in the office. He closed his eyes and took another deep breath, hoping his mind might offer some clue as to where to go next, but not overly trying to force it. He thought again of Jake. Is this what he would have done?

"Archie, I'm sorry, mate," Manny said, opening his eyes and seeing the lad stood awkwardly before him, the fingertips of one hand tracing his neck where it had been gripped by Dan Turner. "Your clothes are covered in blood and dirt. I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to take them off."

Archie blinked and pulled at the hem of his t-shirt so that it stretched down in front of him, peering down at it as if realising for the first time that it was splattered with blood and mud. He pulled it off and, not knowing what else to do, held it out at arm's length to offer it to Manny.

"I mean everything, Archie," said Manny, trying his best to sound reluctant and kind. "We have to have a closer look at everything you were wearing today because it could be evidence."

"Everything?" said Archie, with a quiet squeak, giving Manny a scared look before dropping his gaze to the floor. "You want me to take off all me clothes?"

"Someone will be looking for your mom," said Manny. "She'll be here soon and I'm sure she'll bring something else for you to wear. Until then I'll find you a towel, okay?"

Archie went to say something, but ended up just giving a single, silent nod, and setting about untying his shoelaces. Manny got up and headed to the adjoining bathroom to fetch something for Archie to wrap around himself when he was done.

Manny had just retrieved a pink hand towel – the best he could do from the resources available – when he heard the office door open. Rob had returned, Mary apparently otherwise engaged dealing with the impending chaos. Images of a mob with flaming torches barged their way into Manny's mind, but he quickly pushed them away again. He walked back into the main office to see Rob standing stony-faced just inside the room, looming over Archie. He was stood awkwardly in the middle of the room next to a pile of his clothes, playing with his forearms as if he wanted to cover himself with his hands but was unsure if he was allowed.

"What's happening?" asked Manny, handing the towel to Archie, allowing the boy to quickly wrap it around his waist.

"Mary's gone back down to the scene to do some management. Kenzie wants to speak to you and the rest of the council as soon as possible."

"Okay," said Manny. "Alright. I need to examine and interview Archie before I do anything else. Any sign of his mother?"

"No idea," said Rob. "Sure she'll turn up eventually. They'll probably be dragging her in by her hair if she leaves it much longer."

From the corner of his eye, Manny caught a startled look passing across Archie's face. He frowned at Rob and thought about practicalities. He needed to get rid of him.

"Rob, could you have a look around the castle and see if anyone has some clothes that might fit Archie?" requested Manny. "Can't very well speak to him in the nude after I've examined him."

"No problem," said Rob, looking a bit put out.

"Drop the stuff back here when you find it, then go and do whatever Kenzie thinks you and Mary need to do to contain things as best as possible."

"Right," said Rob, frowning with his entire body. He was a tall, lanky man with a long nose. The manner in which he hunched forward was an ever-reliable barometer for his emotional state.

"See you later," said Manny, after Rob had spent a few seconds steadfastly not leaving.

"Yes," said Rob, shaking his head as if he was dazed, and reluctantly turning to leave the office. Manny was finally free to turn back to Archie.

"Is me mam in trouble too?" whimpered Archie, looking as terrified as ever.

"No, mate. Don't worry about that now." Manny re-found the armchair. "Archie, could I ask you to come and sit on my lap?"

"Suppose," said Archie, clinging with one fist to the towel around his waist and beginning a slow shuffle to where Manny had sat down.

"Right," said Manny. "Let's have a look at you. Nothing to be worried about." He held Archie's head towards him with both hands and looked at the boy's face. He ran the tip of his thumb over the bridge of Archie's nose and his cheeks. "How did you get these scratches, Archie?"

"Don't know."

"Are you sure?" said Manny, supporting the back of Archie's head with his left hand and examining the cuts with the fingertips of his right. "They look sore. And fresh."

Archie shrugged. He was looking at Manny's chest.

"Do you have any other scratches like this?"

Archie shrugged again. Manny ran his hands down the boy's bare back and front. Archie shivered, goosepimples instantaneously pocked his skin, bronzed from a summer out playing by the river.

"I can't feel anything," said Manny. "Give me your hands."

Archie obediently put his little hands into Manny's. Manny looked them over closely.

"You have some nasty looking scrages on your hands, too," said Manny. "And lots of dirt and blood on your fingers and under your nails. Is that your blood, Archie?"

"Dunnaa," said Archie, still looking half-focused at Manny's chest rather than his face. "It might be."

"Well, was there some other part of your body that got cut to cause all that blood?" Another shrug. "Could it be someone else's blood, Archie?"

"Could be," whispered Archie.

"Whose might it be?"

Archie shook his head and teared up. Then he coughed and gave another little shrug.

"Were you playing with Angelika, Archie? Did she get hurt?"

Archie nodded, tears beginning to plop down his cheeks like cannonballs dropped from the ramparts.

"You know I'm going to have to ask you more about that, right Archie?"

A little nod. Another sob.

"Because you were playing with Angelika when she got hurt, weren't you, Archie?"

Archie sucked back snot and nodded again, with slightly more prominence. Another sob.

"Archie, I'm going to ask you a question now, and I need you to be absolutely honest with me when you answer it, and as grown-up as you can be. Okay?"

The boy nodded again but stayed quiet. Manny took a deep breath.

"Archie, when Angelika got hurt, did you…" Manny closed his eyes and breathed in again, steeling himself. "Did you – you know – was your willy out, at all?"

"No!" squeaked Archie with wide-eyed incredulity, finally looking Manny in the eye again.

"Okay, it's alright," said Manny. "You definitely didn't touch any of her private parts or take your willy out?"

"No!" protested Archie. "I'm not… I'm not a pervert! Why would I do that?"

"Okay, okay," said Manny, "it's alright. It's fine. I believe you. That just means I don't have to examine you down there as well, okay? Thank you for answering me truthfully. Good boy."

Archie had settled into a heavy, rasping sob, scrunched as tightly as possible into Manny's chest. Manny limply cradled Archie against him.

"Where's me mam?" wailed Archie. "I wanna go home with me mam! Tell her to come fetch me!"

***

James was in the Recorder's Office on the top floor of the castle keep when he received a knock at the door. He was quite surprised to see Rob Clifford, one of Manny's part-time lackeys, stood on his threshold leaning his long body forward like someone had attached a pair of weights to his nipples. James looked at him quizzically, inviting him to speak.

"MacKenzie wants to see you," said Rob, sounding vaguely accusatory in the manner of a child teasing another about having to go and have a difficult conversation with an adult. James screwed his mouth to one side in mild irritation.

"I'm meeting her this evening to discuss Saddler Street," he replied.

"Oh, that'll be cancelled now. I can tell you that much."

"Why?" said James. "What's going on?"

"Not my place to tell you," said Rob, the corners of his lips flickering with satisfaction. "You'll have to go and see the chief and find out."

James sighed. "Thanks Rob. Is that all?"

"That's it."

"Fine," said James. "I'll finish up what I'm doing here and be right across to the council room." Rob hovered in the doorway. James had turned to return to his desk but spun again to place a hand on the door. "Rob, I need to finish what I was writing."

"Oh, sorry. I'll be on my way."

Once Rob was sufficiently far away, James sighed, shook his head, and pushed the door to. He had no intention of walking across the castle with Rob. He had no idea what it was that made Rob so evidently take satisfaction in grating on him, but James could hazard a couple of guesses. He went to the mirror on his office wall and attempted to straighten his unruly hair. It had been a hot, sticky day, overcast and heavy, and he'd spent most of the morning and early afternoon running his hands across his head as he sat at his desk trying to write. As a result, his brown locks protruded in all directions, his cowlick forming a plume on the front right of his fringe, the other side spiked off to the left in a darker mat of sweat and grease. Even the straighter hair on top of his head was flung in all directions by sweat and the pressure of his hands. He would look unkempt at whatever this meeting with Kenzie was, but there was little he could do about it now.

James plodded down the stairs of the keep, winding his way through the Norman Chapel to the council room. He pushed the door open by the faded brass sign, Senate Room, without bothering to knock. She had asked to see him, after all.

James was mildly surprised that the first face he saw as he entered the room was Manny, who shot him a weak smile. Manny looked tired and ashen faced; hardly his usual sunny self. The self that still gave James a little tingle in his testicles sometimes when Manny's laughing eyes met his across a crowd, sharing a joke that only they truly understood. Now Manny's eyes told him, lovingly, to steel himself but not panic.

Freya MacKenzie was stood at the vertex of two tapestried walls, surveying the room with folded arms. Her dun hair hung in a great curtain at jaw length all around the back and sides of her head. She nodded at James as he caught her eye and sat down beside Manny, who gave his forearm a gentle squeeze. Alongside them, it seemed the whole council had gathered at short notice. Harvey, the chief provisioner; Amrit, the old doctor; Georgia, the buildings manager; Saffron, the marshal; Ruairidh, the head carpenter. Everyone was present; some still evidently in work attire, called in midway through one job or another. Silence fell across the room as Kenzie unfurled her arms to her sides and strode forth to address them.

"There's been a murder," she said.

***

James was back in his office. Manny was sat by his side; Kenzie was stood in the doorway. James could barely focus on what she was saying. Everything he heard made his stomach flip and his mind wander up towards the ceiling, the castle rooftops, the flagpole. Kenzie was stood in the doorway in quite a fancy suit – or at least a suit – which must have been hidden away in some castle wardrobe for decades. Her voice went on. Manny squeezed James' shoulder. James thought that Chief MacKenzie looked like what, once upon a time, people might have called a career politician. As a teenager he'd read the term in a gigantic old Sociology textbook from the shed at the winter house, when he'd fallen out with Manny one long December night and wanted nothing more than to be alone to delve through the mysteries of the past. In fact, he was minded of the megalomaniac high school principal in that cartoon about the cynical American girl, which they used to watch sometimes at the winter house. They didn't get most of the references, nor half of the jokes, but they watched it all the same because it was about teenagers like them. Or at least, a version of how teenagers like them might have been, once upon a time.

"…all things considered," Kenzie was droning, "that's why we believe you to be the best person for the job."

James had stayed just lucid enough through Kenzie's winding soliloquy to follow the gist and understand the gravity of her conclusion.

"You want me to do it?" he heard almost his childhood voice squeaking.

"You don't need me to tell you that you're the cleverest one here," Kenzie said, shaking her head. "Plus, you're good with kids. They all love it when you teach them. And aren't you always going on about how you were brought up by some kind of genius…?"

James winced. Surely, he didn't talk about Jake that much, or that effusively.

"Also, Emmanuel will support you with his investigation, but it really doesn't fall to him alone to come to a judgement. The council has nominated you to fulfil that role."

Manny ruffled the back of James' hair. James sighed.

"Fine. Fine. I'll do it. I'll take responsibility. Just… I need time and space to do this, okay? I don't want mobs banging on my office door every hour of the day."

"You'll have my full support," said Kenzie, sounding – to James – far too slick again by far. People of Mars! I mean – Students of Lawndale High! "If there's nothing more, I have a lot of people to speak to now. You know, in light of what's happened…"

"Bye, Freya," said James.

"Good luck," she said, turning to walk back down the stairs and out into the aether.

"You too," muttered James, and leaned back in his chair.

Manny put an arm around him. "I support you too, man," he said. "We're in this together now."

"Can I see him?" asked James.

"Yeah," said Manny. "I'll take you to the room we've put him in."

***

"So, there's absolutely no doubt he did it?" whispered James, as he and Manny approached the door to Archie's holding room.

"His clothes were covered in her blood," said Manny. "I had to take them off him. So were his hands. There was nobody else down there with them."

"But you said there's nothing sexual going on?"

"No," said Manny. "I asked him if he touched her or took his willy out; he said no. He's ten. I believe him."

"Right," said James. "Okay. Anything else I should know?"

"His mother still hasn't turned up," said Manny, "so I apologise for what he's wearing."

James sighed heavily, closed his eyes, and put his hand to the doorknob. Manny unlocked the heavy wooden door with an old metal key. James was minded of entering a mediaeval dungeon, even in the plush keep of the castle.

The door swung open. James opened his eyes to see a scrawny, dirty-blond-haired little boy, lay sprawled on a single bed in the plain little room. His eyes and cheeks were red and puffy from crying, and there was a hint of a dried candle of snot on his upper lip. He was wearing faded, baggy, blue shorts that looked as if they might fall down if he stood up, and evidently no underpants underneath, from how much of his buttock James could see down the yawning leg of the shorts. A tatty vest hung over his torso, looking somewhere between a bedsheet and a night gown, reaching two-thirds of the way down his shorts. James let out a heavy breath again.

"Apparently it was the best Rob could do," whispered Manny, seeing James' gaze play over Archie's pathetic spread-eagled figure. "So he says."

James pulled a wry face, dimpling his left cheek and raising his eyebrows, and walked the couple of paces he could across the holding room to squat next to the bed.

"Hello, Archie," he said, warmly. "My name's James."

"You teach the older kids, don't you?" sniffled Archie quietly, not looking at either of the adults filling the little chamber.

"That's right," said James. "And I've been asked to talk with you about what happened today."

"I need the toilet," said Archie, quickly changing the subject.

"There's a potty under the bed, Arch," said Manny.

"I ain't using it," pouted Archie. "I want the real toilet. When's me mam coming to fetch me?"

"You'll see her soon, I promise," said James, as soothingly as he could muster. "But for now, you have to stay here. You understand, don't you, Archie?"

"I wanna go home," he muttered.

"I'll speak to you again when your mom gets here," said James. "Is there anything you want me to do for you until then?"

"I wanna go the toilet," replied Archie, still refusing to look at either of the adults, spread out on his back like da Vinci's Vitruvian Man. James and Manny looked at each other, exchanging pale, tired gazes across the couple of square metres of room.

"Okay, Archie," said Manny. "You can come with me to the toilet in my office. But, if you use your potty here, you get to go in private. If you come with me, I have to keep hold of you all the time."

Archie went quiet and contemplated the options for a few seconds. Evidently coming to the conclusion that he'd bought his bridge and was now unable to back down, he stuck to his guns. "Real toilet," he said. "You already made me show me willy before."

"Up you get, then," said Manny.

Archie slid onto his bottom on the edge of the bed, his bare toes touching the bare wooden floor. "Does he have to come too?" said Archie, nodding his head towards James.

"Not if you don't want me to," replied James, assessing Archie again as the boy sat upright beside him. He didn't seem big for his age. For some reason that stuck in James' mind like a stray thorn in a woollen jumper. Archie shrugged.

They followed Archie around the corner to Manny's office, the man's hand on the boy's shoulder the whole time. James noted that the shorts definitely were making slow progress down Archie's hips and buttocks. Manny showed the boy through the office door and into the little bathroom. Archie pushed the shorts a little further down his thighs and pulled the voluminous vest up a little way to clear a path for his urine. James decided to stay in the office proper. Some things are best left private.

Manny, on the other hand, had little choice but to watch as Archie's flaccid willy, the foreskin not quite fully covering the tip, released a stream of fiery yellow liquid into the toilet bowl.

"James," he called. "Do me a favour and fill up the cistern from the water jug?"

James sighed and joined them in the cosy en suite. He was also granted little choice but to see the last of Archie's dribbles from his alabaster worm as he flushed the toilet and refilled the cistern from the jug. Archie seemed satisfied with having forced the men to watch him urinate. Something about his cocksure demeanour suggested he knew the process was more embarrassing and awkward for them than for him. Power from powerlessness, thought James. He's making us do things.

They made Archie wash his hands and led him back to his room. The boy flopped back down on the bed as James left him a little cup of water on the floor. Manny waited for James to come out and locked Archie back in, the sturdy old key clanking the lock shut.

The pair looked at each other.

"What did you think?" sighed Manny.

"A bit strange," said James. "I mean, the whole making us both take him to the toilet thing. But it's obvious he's still just a really scared little boy."

"I know," said Manny. "It's frying my brain, man. I can't square that little lad being the same person who just killed an even littler girl."

James shrugged.

"But he did," said Manny.

"And now we're in it together," sighed James.

Manny shot him a wan smile and squeezed James' shoulder. "Always, man."

Just as warmth was spreading through James' belly, and he was about to part his lips to say something more, the charm was broken by loud shouting from the courtyard. James and Manny immediately made for the window.

"Oh, fuck," said Manny, looking down at the scene playing out below. James shook his head.

Rob had a scraggly dirty-blonde woman gripped by the upper arm. She was shouting as she was manhandled across the castle grounds, a bag under the arm she was being gripped by, and a little girl of toddling age being dragged along in her other hand. The handful of passers-by in the courtyard stood and watched in surprised silence. James could see other faces at neighbouring castle windows.

"Good job we just locked him back up," groaned Manny.

"Yeah," breathed James, the butterflies in his stomach turning into a whirlpool that sucked through the hollow of his legs to the floor below.

***

"Where's me boy? You've got to let us see him!"

Harmonie Stephens was frantic, like a trapped animal. James was reminded of walking through a field full of cows and watching them contemplate whether to stampede to protect their calves. She balled her fists so hard they were white.

They had rushed to get her indoors after she'd been brought in; decamped to Manny's office. He had a beat-up two-seat sofa she could sit on. James found someone to look after the little girl, who was led away, sobbing her heart out at the confusion of the commotion and the separation from her mother. Manny was busy bellowing at a self-satisfied Rob about tact and optics. The moment was a kaleidoscope of adrenaline and confusion; pounding hearts and eardrums; thoughts folding in on themselves until all that remained was a great, sucking vortex.

"You've taken me daughter now as well!" Harmonie ranted. "Where's me boy? You've gotta give me me boy!"

"Give me his things," said James, quietly. "I'll fetch him and get him dressed properly."

"Why isn't he dressed?" demanded Harmonie.

"His clothes were filthy," Manny tried to explain. "It was really for his own good that we changed him out of them. We found some other clothes for him to wear, but he'll be much more comfortable now in clothes of his own."

"I know what your type are like," barked Harmonie, darkly. "You think, 'there's that bloody troublemaker; that'll teach him, make him strip his clothes off'. Well he's a bloody human being too, y'knaa! He's a little boy! He's my little boy!"

"It really wasn't like that, Miss Stevens," said James. "Please can I have his clothes?"

Harmonie picked the bag containing Archie's things up from the sofa and threw it at James' chest as he approached her. He caught it in a bear hug, like in faded posters of football goalkeepers, and headed off in silence to attend to Archie. Manny had to reach over and slide the key into James' back pocket. He was in too much of a rush to leave the room to have remembered.

Harmonie hung by a thread as the door clicked shut behind James. Her head was in her hands, dumpy, bony fingers clutching at her brow. She sobbed and hacked. Manny watched as if in third person. He saw himself doing nothing.

"Did he do it?" Harmonie raised her head to ask, gutturally, pleading with Manny with her eyes. "Has he done what they said he done?"

"I'm sorry," said Manny, witness for the second time in a few hours to the moment a mother's heart ground into ash.

***

"Archie," James said quietly, opening the door just a crack to let his voice through. "Is it okay to come in?"

"What do you want?"

James opened the door slightly further to see Archie flopped down spread-eagled on the bed, exactly where they'd left him. His eyes were pink and puffy from more crying.

"Your mom's come to see you," said James, warmly. "She's brought some of your own clothes to put on."

"Me mam's here?" exclaimed Archie, rocketing up to a seated position on the bed, supported by his hands behind him. "Has she come to take me away?"

"You know that can't happen right now, Archie," said James. "Look, let's get you dressed in your own clothes, then I'll take you to see her."

"Alright," sighed Archie. He stood up and easily slipped himself out of his oversized vest. The baggy shorts rode so low that James could see the clefts where Archie's thighs joined his hips.

"Let's see what you've got," said James, reaching into the bag. He felt another pang of pity for the boy wash over him as he pulled out a faded, threadbare pair of briefs, slightly discoloured at the front. "Well, those can go on first," he said, trying to keep his voice level. Archie took them from James and turned his back to him to drop the shorts he was wearing and put on the underpants.

"Looks like you have a choice," said James, observing what emerged next. "Trackies or shorts?" The tracksuit bottoms looked as if they might be a bit small for Archie. The old, silky sports shorts had worn gossamer thin on the bottom to translucence.

"Shorts please," said Archie. "It's proper hot and sticky today."

Archie turned around to take the shorts and put them on. James noticed that the briefs were tight on him, too; pressing his bits to his body so the shape was revealed through the fabric and a little fold of scrotum protruded from one leg hole.

"Looks like you've got socks and a tee-shirt here too," said James, passing the rest over to the boy. The socks had a hole in one heel, but at least they fit his feet and rested naturally above his ankle. The tee was white, with a faded image of Pikachu – some sort of yellow cartoon rodent with red cheeks.

"Ready to roll?" asked James.

Archie nodded. "I really wanna see me mam."

"Do you want to hold my hand?"

Archie looked at James long and hard, cocking his head to one side, pursing his lips and narrowing his eyes, as if weighing up an impossible decision.

"Okay," he eventually said in a quiet voice, while looking at his and James' feet. James held out his hand. It took a second for Archie to take the plunge and grab it. When he did, James swung it and gently rubbed the boy's knuckle as they made their way along the corridor.

***

"Mam!"

"Oh, Archie!"

He had sprinted across the room and launched himself at his mother on the sofa, rocking her backwards. Archie was sprawled full length across Harmonie, head nuzzled between her chin and breast. Her grip around his body belied the terror that Archie could be sucked away at any moment, back into the empty vortex with all their thoughts and feelings and hopes and fears. By the time James had retaken his seat, the two were sobbing noisily into each other.

"I'm sorry, mam!" choked Archie. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

"I know, Arch; I know," Harmonie was cooing gently, stroking him all over; kissing the top of his head and inhaling his hair.

"I messed everything up!" he heaved, snot and tears and saliva heavy in his throat, obscuring his voice. He coughed. He had the hiccups. His body was overwhelmed.

"I love you so much," Harmonie was whispering. "So, so much. You'll always be my special boy. Always. No matter what."

"I never meant it, mam," he croaked. "Honest I never meant it. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"I know, darling. I know."

"I did it for you, mam."

"Shh… don't talk silly now. You're getting yourself all confused."

"I really did… I'm sorry."

James had felt himself go grey. His forehead was grey. His cheeks were grey. His heart was grey. Even his bowels were grey. All he could do was watch and feel his mind overload, over and over again, in an endless cycle.

Manny was drowning in the tide, too. On the riverbank, he'd imagined himself, and Tracey, and Theo, and felt the shockwaves as they burst from Angelika's mother and ripped through the air. Now he was in the eye of the storm. And again, he was watching himself, and Tracey, and Theo. He was watching everybody lose.

"What about Angelika's mam and dad?" asked Archie, sobs rumbling through his entire body. "Do they know I didn't mean it? Do they know how sorry I am?"

"Don't worry about that now, baby boy. Everything's gonna be fine eventually. You'll see."

"Will somebody tell them for me?" said Archie. "That I'm really, really sorry. And that I never meant it. I really never meant it."

"They'll find out, Archie," James heard himself say, his voice cracking through the granite air like rogue diamond. "I promise everyone will know what really happened."

***

James only realised just how hungry he was when he entered the hall of the castle and smelt the aromas of food from the kitchens. But hunger alone could not adequately account for how lightheaded he felt; how his stomach seemed to have come uncoupled from the rest of his body.

He received his chicken and veg in stock gravy with thanks, and weaved his way through the long, row tables to where Manny was sitting, alongside Tracey and Theo. Manny was eating pensively; Tracey trying to encourage Theo to eat his meal. James' arrival didn't help her cause.

"Uncle James!" cried the boy, climbing up onto the table on his knees to reach across and hug James around his waist. James smiled awkwardly and carefully put his tray down next to Manny's, worried that his little nephew might send his dinner flying at any moment. He ruffled the boy's dark, wavy hair.

"Hello, Theo," said James. "I've missed you too."

"Theo! Get down!" snapped Tracey, yanking the little boy back down onto the bench.

"I was saying hello to Uncle James!" Theo said, intonation rising in pitch as a matter-of-fact protest of innocence.

"We don't climb on the tables," said Tracy, firmly. "Come on now. Your dinner's getting cold."

"Hi, Tracey," said James, settling himself down at the table. "I take it you've heard what's happened?"

"Sounds like you have your work cut out," she replied drily, attempting to feed Theo from his fork. Theo took a mouthful of chicken and potato and chewed happily.

"We both have," interjected Manny. "James isn't in this by himself."

"Of course not," said Tracey, replacing Theo's fork on his plate. "We're all here for you. You know that. It must be awful, dealing with… well, you know. Horrible."

"Uncle James, can we do tickle mouse?" Theo interrupted.

"Sorry, Theo. Mice aren't allowed in the dinner hall."

"Why?"

"What do you think?" said James, his eyes smiling at Theo's cheeky, food-stained face.

"Cos… if we let the mouses in the hall, then… then the mouses will eat all the food!" exclaimed Theo, finishing with a broad, milk-toothed grin. Just like his father.

"Theo, you need to concentrate on eating your food," sighed Tracey.

"I'm not hungry, mammy."

"If you don't eat all your dinner, you won't ever grow up to be big like me and Uncle James," said Manny, locking eyes with Theo and giving him a serious look.

"Okay, daddy," Theo sighed. "I'll eat some more. But only chicken. No more taters or brockly!" He stuck his tongue out animatedly, making James smirk. Theo gave his daddy's grin again.

"James and I need to head up and get some more work done after dinner," said Manny. "You don't mind, do you, Trace?"

"No; I can make sure this little devil's in bed," said Tracey, touching Theo's crown as he gnawed away, open-mouthed, at a piece of roast chicken he held in his fingers. "Just don't be too late, okay?"

***

"Why did you say that to him?" said Manny. "About knowing what really happened?"

They were in James' bedroom. James had removed his button-down overshirt and thrown it to one side. He was sat on the end of the bed looking and feeling exhausted.

"I dunno; it just came out," said James, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. "He was so obviously genuinely remorseful, and clearly still in shock. He must be struggling to process what he's done, and terrified of what might happen next. I s'pose I felt he needed that support."

"Alright," said Manny, kicking off his shoes. "I know he's cute, and he seems helpless, but don't let him get under your skin. For all we know he battered that girl to death in cold blood. If you're going to do this right, you have to keep a clear head."

"I'll be fine," said James. "Today was just… overwhelming, is all. I need to wind down."

"Come here," said Manny. It was an order, but a gentle one. James got to his feet and stood before his brother. Manny held James close, in a shattering bear hug, then stood holding him by the hips, looking down into his eyes. "You okay?"

James answered by way of leaning forward and nipping at Manny's lips with his, open mouthed, the tip of his tongue tickling back and forth over the crevice of Manny's mouth. Manny parted his lips in response and held James as close as he could. Their tongues wrestled. There was the friction of Manny's short, shadowy brown beard, barely more than long stubble, against James' closely shaven face. A piece of chicken tumbled from one of Manny's upper molars, and James drank it down hungrily with a gobful of Manny's saliva. Manny pushed forward and forced them onto the bed, which creaked in protest at the two grown men collapsing onto it.

"I'll give you what you need," breathed Manny, millimetres above James' face. James could feel Manny's thick shaft poking against the inside of his thigh, straining at its restraints. He shivered from head to toe.

"I need it," said James. "Please."

By way of acknowledgement, Manny lifted the hem of James' tee-shirt and pulled it over his head with minimal resistance. He recognised it as an old one of Jake's tops, the album cover design on the front so faded that one could only make out the outline of a rose and the text 'Generation Terrorists' if they were looking for it, and so placed it to one side, offering it more reverence than being thrown passionately at the wall. James' torso was almost as bare as the day he was born, offering Manny plenty of skin to suckle and kiss. James groaned; felt his erection grow and throb in his shorts as Manny licked his way around his chest, avoiding the patch of downy blond hairs at its centre, darting now and then for his taut pink nipples, ringed with stringy brown hair. His entire body pulsed as waves of tension and frustration were hoovered away by Manny's hungry mouth.

James moaned again as Manny worked further down, tickling his tummy and prodding at his bellybutton with an arrowed tongue. James' underpants had dampened with sweat as he felt Manny's fingers at his waistband. He lifted his hips to allow his shorts and boxers to be pulled away in one swift movement, kicking them off as they reached his ankles. He was naked and on his back beneath Manny, fully clothed, manipulating his body like a puppeteer. His exposed member, a narrow six-ish inches, bobbed at a 45-degree angle from his body, a bare trunk emerging from a modest brown bush, which dissipated into downy blond fuzz as it radiated away from his manhood. Manny followed a golden trail from James' bellybutton until his nose was buried in woody-smelling golden-brown hairs that scraped and tickled at his nostrils and lips. James' warm, velvety stiffness pressed against his face, now ever so slightly sticky at the tip. Manny ran his nose up the underside of it lovingly, inhaling the saltiness of James' musk and revelling in how it made James shiver from head to toe. Manny gave the base of James' shaft a quick, broad lick.

"I won't tease," said Manny, smiling at James over the tip of his penis. "I want you to come while I'm inside you. Sixty-nine while I lube you up."

Without a further word, both men arranged themselves in position. Manny unbuttoned his shirt while knelt in reverse over James' face, allowing James to lower his shorts and underpants, which he lifted his legs to kick off once he was done. He descended into position and took James' slick knob into his mouth without ceremony, swirling his tongue around and fully withdrawing the foreskin with a hand at the base of the cock. James was presented with a large, dripping penis pointed directly at his face. Like him, Manny wasn't particularly hairy, but his bush was rather impressive, in thick black hair. As children, his penis had always been slightly longer and fatter than James', and so it remained a little longer, and much girthier than James' adult penis. James let his nose and mouth rub against Manny's close-drawn testes as he reached for a little bottle of vegetable oil on his bedside table. He passed it down to Manny and folded back his legs to expose his rear. He felt the first prod of Manny's hand just as he took half of Manny's dick in his mouth, swallowing down the free-flowing juices as they clashed with his saliva. Somewhere, on some deep, emotional level, there was something about the scents and tastes of a man's sexual organs that made James feel complete. And there was no man left alive that he was closer to than Manny Addo.

James had had to back off and nibble at Manny's wrinkled scrotum by the time three fingers were being flared and twisted inside his anus. "Please," he said to Manny, "start now."

Manny swung away so he could kneel behind James. He twisted him into a semicircle, the small of his back rested on Manny's kneeling thighs. Manny lined himself up. The two kept unbroken eye contact as Manny's thick cock head slipped sharply past James' resistance, in a single, quick stroke.

"Oof!" grunted James. Manny leant over him and attacked his mouth with gnashing lips, James' legs pushed up vertical and helpless as nearly seven thick inches of Manny meat slid to full depth within him. He felt the tickle of armpit hair on his knees; he felt the pressure of Manny's hips on his buttocks; he tasted Manny's breath and saliva dancing with his own like drops of ink flooding through water; he smelt the sour scent of oil, and the rich aroma of his own backside. All of that registered but barely. The warmth; the fullness; the intimacy of penetration was overwhelming. It dominated his senses. It had his dick dribbling thick webs onto his upturned chest. He broke the kiss, feeling Manny beginning to build up a rhythm, slapping and squelching beginning to quicken and keep time. He managed to croak out an order, the same order he'd given the first time they had been together like this; the first time Manny had delved his most precious and sensitive organ into James' innermost core.

"Harder!" he said.

***

The sun was setting when Manny finally made his way back to his home, the first floor of the first staircase of Hatfield College, a grey stone townhouse, built centuries ago. He first checked on Theo, who was sleeping soundly in his bed, snuggled in with far too many teddy bears. He cuddled a worn-out badger toy in his arms, a gift for a little boy some sixty-five years before. Theo's favourite.

"Sweet dreams, my baby boy," whispered Manny, planting a little kiss on Theo's forehead and stroking his wavy hair, rabbit soft. Theo murmured in his sleep and smacked his lips. Manny withdrew. It was very late. He didn't want to wake him.

"How was work with James?" asked Tracey, pointedly, as Manny entered the bedroom. She was sat up in bed, reading in the flickering light of an oil lamp. Her thin nightdress clung to her form as she sat atop the covers, propped up by pillows against the headboard.

Manny shrugged and began removing his shirt. Tracey sighed and shook her head.

"You fucked him again, didn't you?" she said. "Don't lie to me; I can already smell him on you."

"Tracey," began Manny, pausing topless with his hands on the flies of his shorts to look his partner in the eye, "you know you're the only woman for me."

"Yeah," sniffed Tracey, placing the book to one side and smoothing the front of her nightdress, "well I'm not the only person for you, though, am I?"

"Tracey, let's not do this again," sighed Manny, pacing over to sit facing her at the end of the bed. "You've always known how it is with me and James. He's my brother. He needs my support."

"Most brothers don't have sex with each other," Tracey sniggered mirthlessly.

"It's the way we were brought up; we've been through this all before a thousand times," said Manny. "Please, can we just go to sleep?"

"The way you were brought up?! Manny, that man abused you! The pair of you! It's plain as day and you two are the only buggers daft enough not to see it!"

"I'm not having this conversation again," snapped Manny. "I feel fine. James feels fine. We were loved, Trace, and we were saved, and that's really all there is to it."

"So you'd be okay with it if James wants to love Theo in that way, then?"

"What the hell is wrong with you? Why would you say that? Theo's five. James fucking dotes on him. They love each other as family, not sexually. What's the problem?"

"What about that 'tickle mouse' thing they do? It's a bit weird, like, don't you think?"

"No! I don't think! It's a kids' game; Theo loves tickle mouse!"

"Where did James learn it then?"

"Probably when he was a kid from his mom, or some other adult he lived with."

"So, from that Jake, then?"

"Don't say his name like that," sighed Manny. It was a whisper, but a whisper of fury. A rasp of righteous anger. The room seemed hotter, stickier, more oppressive now, in the constant dancing and twirling of the warm, oily light.

"Look, Manny, love," said Tracey, setting her face and voice more softly and sliding down to touch Manny's hand on the bed with her toe. "All I'm saying is, maybe it isn't for the best for you or James to keep giving him sex every time he feels down. What happened to the two of you as kids obviously left more of an impression on him. The best way to help him, is to talk to him, like. Not give into him and take him back to that place. You understand?"

"Maybe that's true," Manny responded, sucking in a deep breath that puffed out his sweat-glistened chest. "But maybe the more simple explanation is that James likes dick and there's no-one else to help him out around here? Cos that sounds more like the James I've known since we were eleven."

"Manny…"

"Don't," he groaned, rubbing his eyes with his fingertips. "I don't want to talk about this anymore. Me and James know who we are. We're not victims. We weren't abused or hurt or damaged. You don't know the first thing about Jake. You have no right."

"Manny," Tracey sighed again, tears in her eyes and exhaustion in her voice. "It's just… it's still hard for me to understand. Even now. And you and him are so secretive about things when you're together. It's like… It's just like there's something between you that I just don't get. I just want to understand that, love. Because you are my love, right? You, me, and Theo? James, even."

"I don't want to talk about this anymore," said Manny. "Please, can we just sleep?"

"I know; I'm sorry. It's been a long day for all of us, like."

Manny stood back up and stripped out of his shorts and boxers. He slid under the covers alongside Tracey. She douted the light and was soon under the thin summer bedcover too.

"You know," Manny said, lying on his back in the darkness, "today I saw that little girl lying there dead, and I saw her mother so heartbroken she looked as if she would crumble at any minute, and all I could think of was us; how much I love you and Theo; the lengths I'd go to protect him."

Tracey listened quietly. Manny could hear her breath in the silence of the bedroom, right beside him. She rolled over and pushed herself against him, taking his hand in hers and placing it against his heart.

"Then I saw that boy – and I knew he'd done it, but I just felt so much pity. I mean, I wanted to give him a right lamping. Part of me did. But mostly I just thought, what has hurt you so much that you've ended up doing this? And I'm scared of what the answer might be, Trace. I'm really fucking scared."

"Manny," said Tracey, nuzzling herself against the side of his chest, cheek rested on his bicep, "none of this is on you. None of it's your fault, and nobody expects you to have all the answers. And all of us are here for you, okay. Just talk to me. Please."

"If I'm not meant to have all the answers, then who is?" said Manny. "James has gotta work out what to do next, and don't think we both don't know there's already people who want to see this lad strung up."

"We can be there for him, too. We'll stick together."

"You should have seen him, when his mom turned up earlier," said Manny, adjusting his arm so Tracy was being cradled into him as she lay against his chest. "He was beside himself. I think he's in shock. He seems so full of sadness, and guilt, and… not even anger. That's the weirdest thing. He even said to his mom, I did it for you. What's that all about? What's that boy seen in the years before they came here?"

"I know, love. It can't be easy, dealing with things like that. You don't have to do it alone. We can talk any way you want. Even just like this. As long as you're letting it out."

"You know, seeing him with his mom, I thought of us too," said Manny. "That's the worst thing. I was imagining us as them too, and you just realise – it's such a fucking mess. It's a mess and it's tragic. For two families. And I'm so scared that nobody else is gonna get that. They won't."

"I hear you," said Tracey. "And I understand. Shall we sleep now, Manny? Let your mind rest until morning?"

"I love you," said Manny. "I do, you know. Even if I do some strange things."

"I'm sorry I brought that up," said Tracey. "Really I am. Let's forget it for now and rest, eh?"

"Love you."

"Love you too."

***

James was dreaming. He knew he was dreaming because he was in the middle of a city, with big, old sandy-coloured stone buildings, and there were people and cars and buses and bicycles everywhere. But he kept forgetting it was a dream and realising again; having to remind himself.

They were in a place. A food sort of place, with a counter and tables. Jake was there, and there was someone else he was with. He looked a bit like James, but he can't have been, because it was an adult, and there were people and cars and buses and bicycles everywhere, so it must have been long before James was born. The adult's face was blurred, but familiar, like someone he recognised had been deliberately obscured from him. His accent matched Jake's. Maybe stronger. He couldn't tell. But he could tell they were together. Together together.

There were twin boys. They didn't look much like Jake, nor the other man. Not that James could see him clearly, but he knew they didn't. They weren't in between either. Maybe they had been adopted. There were people everywhere; so many it made James' head spin and his stomach tumble. They queued for the stuff. James wasn't sure if he was there with them, or just some invisible observer. A spectre. An interloper who hadn't happened yet, or perhaps never would.

"What flavours do you want?" said the man to the boys.

"Mint!" exclaimed one boy, happily.

"Yeah! I want the mint one too!" said the other.

"It'll be less fun if you both get the same one," said Jake. "If you get different ones, you can share with each other and get to taste two flavours. What do you think?"

"I want mint," repeated the first boy.

"Okay, Scott, you want mint. What about you then, Tommy? Is there something else you'd like to try?"

"What's the blue one?" Tommy said, poking a finger to the glass and leaving a smudgy fingerprint behind.

"I don't think you'll like the blue one," said Jake.

"Is there a chocolate one?" Scott interrupted.

"Yeah, I want a chocolate one!" said Tommy.

"How about this one," said Jake, directing Tommy's attention away from the brown stuff in a tub that had captured his focus. "It's Daim bar crunch. You like Daim bars."

"Is it chocolate?" asked Tommy, dubious.

"Can we have a taste of the Diam bar crunch?" asked the blurface man to an anonymous server. He scraped a little of the creamy-brown stuff from its tub on a little flat wooden stick thing, then handed it over. Jake took it and fed it to Tommy.

"Yum-ee!" Tommy bounced. "Can I have that one, please daddy?"

"Are you getting mint for me?" said Scott, pulling at Jake's arm.

"Stop mithering," said Jake. "You can see papi's ordering for us."

"Papi," said Scott, trotting over to the other man. "Did daddy tell you to get me a mint one?"

James had forgotten where he was. He had no idea what was happening. All the people and the sounds of the cars and buses and bikes made his head spin. He stumbled through a door. A ragged man sat on the pavement near the doorway and eyeballed him. He bared yellowed teeth. It was almost a snarl.

"Spare any change, pal?"

James opened his eyes in the deep blackness of his bed, reeking of sex.

Chapter 2
Day Two

Records of Events of the City of Durham

Tuesday 6^th July 2055

Weather: sunny, humid, still, 35°C (the man is out of the weather house)

Chief MacKenzie recommended to the council that they should endorse Sheriff Emmanuel Kwame Addo (EKA) as chief investigator and City Recorder James Martin (JM) as chief justice for the case of Archie Stephens (AS) and Angelika Wojnowski. The council made those endorsements. EKA is responsible for establishing and recording the facts of the case. JM is responsible for considering those facts and making an assessment of AS, taking both into consideration before recommending appropriate action. Interviews with AS have commenced. He remains in custody within the castle grounds.

There was light drizzle overnight, but it has done little to curb the humidity. A storm is expected within the coming days.

City Recorder: Mr James Martin

***

James was at Archie's door bright and early the next morning, the heat of the day yet to set in. There had been drizzle overnight that cleared the air ever so slightly, and the sun beat down on the city in the little, high loop of the river, threatening to strangle them with humidity again. There was no chance Archie could have communal breakfast in the castle, so alternative arrangements were required. James let himself in.

The room was dingy; the curtains firmly shut. It was hot and sticky, even with the window evidently open from the sounds of the birds outside. It smelt of sleeping boy and urine. James' nose sent the message to his feet just in time for him to avoid tripping over the full potty and spilling its contents everywhere. Evidently Archie had given in to the necessity of using it during the night.

"Arch?" said James, sidestepping the bowl and gently shaking the little boy's shoulder. "Archie, mate. Time to get up and get your breakfast."

"Mmph," grunted Archie, pressing his face into the pillow.

"C'mon Arch," said James, ruffling the boy's hair. Archie turned over to face James, letting his eyes flutter open. He blinked a couple of times, before his eyes widened and his body froze. He must have forgotten where he was in the depths of his slumber.

"Where's me mam?" he squeaked.

"It's alright, Archie," said James, kindly. "You're in the castle, remember, with me? You're safe here."

Archie's brow furrowed, and his mind began to work again. "I remember," he nodded. Out of nowhere, on the next breath, he began to sob, chest collapsed into the mattress. "I had bad dreams last night," he hacked. "And nobody heard me or came to help me, and I couldn't get out. It was scary!"

It was so sudden that James was taken aback. He perched on the edge of the bed and rubbed Archie's shoulder, buffeting the boy's body against his thigh. Part of him thought it could be crocodile tears, but he also realised it probably added up with the shock and trauma of the past twenty-four hours.

"I know, Archie," said James. "I know. Let it all out, now. You're safe with me. No need to be frightened. We're awake now, and it's normal to have nightmares when horrible things happen like yesterday, isn't it?"

Archie sniffled and nodded, recovering enough to lift himself a little higher in the bed.

"Come on now, matey. Time to get up. Let's get you washed and dressed, then we can get some breakfast down you."

Archie shuffled to dangle his legs from the bed as James stood up. He looked disdainfully at his full potty. "Is that gonna be emptied out?" he asked.

"Yeah," said James. "We can do it now. I know you don't like using it, but it's better than weeing your bed, isn't it?"

"I'd just go out the window, if I could reach," said Archie, staring at the closed curtains. "I'm not a baby. I don't piss the bed."

"Mind your language, Archie," said James, unsure why the boy's casual swearing ticked him off so much. "Do you want to carry the potty, or shall I?"

"You do it," said Archie, screwing up his face. "I don't wanna touch that."

James sighed and led the boy to the nearest bathroom. He disposed of the contents of the potty in the toilet and turned to find Archie absentmindedly looking around the room.

"Right, stinker. Time you had a wash. Head over the sink first."

Archie pulled a face, but he went and stuck his head over the bowl as requested. James took the water jug in one hand and unceremoniously dumped a load over Archie's head.

"How, man! The water's cold!"

"Stop mithering," said James. "It's been on the windowledge in the sun. It'll be lukewarm."

"What's mithering?" asked Archie, as James slapped a gob of shampoo into his hair.

"It's a regional word, I guess," said James. "It means farting about; complaining over nothing."

"You said farting," guffawed Archie.

"Shut up or you'll get soap in your mouth," said James, rinsing out Archie's dark blond tangle without warning. He'd had his hand firmly on the back of Archie's neck and shoulders to stop him squirming out of place, and released it. Archie stood back up, hair running rivers all over his face and torso.

"You're funny," he said, smirking at James. "You act like you're all clever and proper, but really you're dead silly."

"You'd better watch out then," observed James monotonously. "Pants off. You need a scrub down."

Archie huffed and took an age removing his briefs, finally clamping his hands firmly over his crotch as the underpants slumped around his ankles. James had wet and soaped up a flannel in the lukewarm water. He ignored Archie's stubbornness and roughly washed his face and neck, remembering how once upon a time his role was reversed.

"Lift your arms," instructed James. "I need to do your armpits."

"But you'll see me willy!"

"One arm at a time then so you can keep one hand over it."

Archie huffed again and released his left arm. James rubbed the flannel savagely at the boy's bare pit. He squealed.

"Don't be such a baby."

"Tickles, man!"

James ignored him and washed down to Archie's left hand. He took a scrubbing brush to the fingernails and made sure all the grazes and scratches were cleaned out. Archie was allowed to switch the hand cupping his genitals, and the process was repeated with the right arm and hand.

"Move your hands now," said James. "Need to wash between your legs."

"Why?" complained Archie.

"Because it's important to keep those parts of your body clean."

"Why do you have to do it?"

"Because you obviously don't want to. Now spread."

Growling with childish outrage, Archie reluctantly moved his hands and stepped one ankle out of his undersized briefs to allow James access between his legs. James quickly and roughly rubbed the washcloth all over the boy's front and back, finishing with a wipe deep between his cheeks.

"Done now," announced James. "There's a towel if you need it. Otherwise, back to your room and get your clothes back on."

"It's embarrassing to have you watch me with my clothes off or see what I've done in the potty," pouted Archie. "You're punishing me."

"It's not meant as a punishment, Archie," said James. "Really it's not. Unfortunately, it's just the way it has to be at the moment. It'll get better. You'll see."

"I had to take all my clothes off before," whined Archie. "They was looking at me naked."

"I know, mate. Some things are meant to be private. But it's only me and Manny. We're boys too, the same as you. We're not going to make fun of you."

"There was that other bloke," said Archie, darkly. "The nasty one. He barged in while I was in the noddy, like."

"You mean Rob?"

"I dunnaa."

"He's good at barging in where he's not wanted," said James, shaking his head.

"He's a wanker," growled Archie.

"Language, Archie," said James, raising his eyebrows.

"He is though."

"Alright, Archie; how about this," James suggested. "If you're embarrassed, Manny or I will take you to empty your own potty; we won't look at what's inside. Then if you want to go to the toilet, or need a wash, only Manny or I will take you – and we don't care cos we're boys the same, and used to see each other naked all the time when we were little."

"That sounds better," said Archie. He shuffled his feet a little and played with his hands. "James?" he said, having found his courage. "Could I go to the toilet now? I really need a poo, and I don't wanna do that in the potty when I'm in that room."

"Course," said James. "Come on. I'll wait outside the door and you can sort yourself out. I trust you. Just make sure you wash your hands after."

***

An early February sunset played through the French doors at the back of the house, as James and Manny sat on the laminate floor playing with Robot Wars toys that Jake had found in the shed. The air was alive with pinprick drizzle in the garden outside, as the changing weather tried to pluck the withered husks of the vegetable plants back into life following the long winter.

The boys stared at each other and grinned. They were dressed practically identically, Manny still borrowing James' clothes for lack of opportunity in the cold, snowy months to go out and gather some of his own.

"Three!" chanted James.

"Two!" replied Manny.

"One!" they shouted together. "Go!"

They pulled back on their chosen plastic models and released to let them go. James had chosen the quick, wedge-shaped robot with the powerful flipper, Chaos 2. Manny had gone for XTerminator, a bulky little tank with a front scoop and pickaxe mounted on the top. The two models raced at each other from either end of The Gauntlet: two ramps onto a central platform adorned with swinging mace balls and floor spikes. Manny went for a mace ball, swinging it back to aim at Chaos 2, but went far too hard, causing it to skim over the robot. James saw his chance and pressed the pump to push up the floor spike under XTerminator. Manny's robot popped up in the air just as James' crashed underneath. Chaos 2's mighty flipper dashed open on contact, hurling XTerminator from the arena.

"Yeah!" cried James.

"Aww, man!" said Manny, giving a silly thrust of his bottom lip and picking up his stricken robot. "You failed me, XTerminator!" he said, glowing with melodrama, holding the little toy robot up to his face. "You failed me!"

"I'll be Craig Charles," said Jake, wandering in from the living room. "Come and have your post-battle interview."

"Who's that?" said James.

"He was the presenter. He looked a bit like my dad."

Manny squinted at the man in the leather jacket with yellow Robot Wars trim, grinning out from the toy set's cardboard box. He stuck out his bottom lip again. "Your dad was brown like me?"

"Nah," said Jake. "Doesn't mean he didn't look like him, though."

"S'pose," said Manny. "Me and James look the same under our clothes, don't we?"

"Hmm," said Jake. "You're probably right, but I might need to check to make sure."

Manny smirked nervously. James laughed.

"Yeah, and we're like mini versions of you, Jake," he said. "So you have to show too!"

"Alright, boys," said Jake. "Save it for bedtime. I have to get you both fed first."

"Are we going to sleep naked again?" said Manny.

"Course, silly!" giggled James.

"Do you like being naked with us, Manny?" asked Jake.

Manny blushed crimson.

"It's okay if you don't," said Jake. "You don't have to."

Manny took a deep breath. "I think I do. Like it, I mean. It's like… I dunno. All boys together, or something?"

"Yeah!" cried James. "All boys together! Willies rule!"

"All boys together!" laughed Manny, launching himself onto James and tickle-wrestling him to the floor with a thud that reverberated through the room. The boys kicked and squealed, tickling and pawing at each other's arms, rolling over and over each other. Jake smiled and left to get started on dinner.

***

Manny met James at the door of Archie's room. The boy was inside getting himself dressed.

"Alright?" said James.

"Yeah," sighed Manny. He looked tired.

"Sure?"

"It's okay," Manny said. "We had Theo in our bed in the middle of the night. Bad dreams about giant bees or something. Took forever to get him settled."

"Apparently he's not the only one to have been having nightmares," said James, nodding at Archie's door.

"Really?" said Manny. "Well, hardly surprising, is it? Seemed to me like he spent most of yesterday in shock. Should've checked on him, really."

"I had a weird dream, too," said James, only for Archie to interrupt by swinging the door open.

"Are we having brekkie now?" asked Archie.

"Yeah, let's go," said James. Manny looked at him quizzically. "I'll tell you about it later," James responded, and they led Archie between them off towards the hall.

Archie evidently expected that they'd just be entering the hall with everyone else, so was confused when they took a back staircase, out of the way. "Where we going?" he squeaked.

"You'll see in a second," said Manny, encouraging the lad further downstairs.

"I thought we was having breakfast!"

"We are, Arch," said James.

"No!" squealed Archie, twisting to turn back up the stairs, only for Manny to catch him firmly by the wrist. "Get off us!" he screeched. "Get off us!"

"Calm down, Archie!" said Manny, looking at James with blank surprise. James also looked startled, and he shrugged. "We're just going downstairs. You'll see in a second if you come."

"You're taking me to the dungeon!" Archie was thrashing about trying to burst free of Manny's grip. He punched Manny's hand, forcing James to grab hold of his free arm.

"Ow!" said Manny. "What do you mean, the dungeon?"

"You're gonna take us down there and tie us up in the dark so I can't move or nothing!" wailed Archie, struggling against the grip of both men with all his might. "You're gonna hurt me cos I was bad! I dinnit want yous to hurt me! I dinnit! I dinnit! I dinnit!"

"Archie," said James, kneeling before the panic-stricken boy and stroking his face with his free hand. "Archie, mate, we're not going to hurt you, okay? Me and Manny are on your side. We want to help you, right? But we can't do that unless you trust us. Do you trust us, Archie? Have we done anything to hurt you so far?"

"No…" sniffled Archie.

"You're gonna trust us then?"

"S'pose…"

"Good boy," said James. "Let's show you what's really down here."

Archie hiccoughed as he allowed Manny and James to lead him down the rest of the stairs, a hand each. They emerged into a space with an old pool table at its centre and a table made up with three chairs around it. There were three plates, three glasses of water, three apples, and two central plates containing a mound of steaming scrambled eggs and a pile of little round flatbreads.

"See, silly," said James, stroking the back of Archie's head. "It's just a place for us to have breakfast in peace."

"Is that egg?" asked Archie, quietly.

"Yeah," said Manny. "Hope you like it."

"I do," replied Archie. "What's that round stuff?"

"It's bread, Arch," responded Manny. "Have you not seen it before?"

"I never ate at the castle before," said Archie, shaking his head. "Me mam cooks for us from what we've got around our house, like. And in the winter sometimes they bring the leftovers down from here for us to heat back up."

"You'll like the bread," said James. "It's nice."

"What is this place?" asked Archie, fingering the side of the pool table.

"It's the dungeon, Arch," replied James.

"Dinnit make fun of me!" protested Archie.

"It really is the dungeon," said Manny. "Look." Manny opened a side door and revealed a pitch black, cavernous room. As the light of the lamps in their room danced in, and their eyes adjusted, they began to make out a forest of tables and chairs upturned for storage, and an old, broken-down bar against one side wall, beer taps glinting in the lamplight.

"Why is all this stuff in here?" said Archie.

"Cos nobody has used this as a dungeon for hundreds of years," said James. "Look at that lady up there, see?" James pointed to draw Archie's attention. Chained to a high shelf was a statue of Marilyn Monroe.

"So she's the only prisoner," giggled Archie.

"See," said Manny. "We were never going to hurt you."

"I get it now," nodded Archie. "I… I'm sorry I made a fuss like that."

"That's okay," smiled James. "Everyone makes mistakes. Let's get around the table before our eggs get cold."

James caught Manny's eye over Archie's head as he trotted happily towards the table. Manny frowned. Find out what that was about, he mouthed. James nodded.

Archie didn't talk much as they made their way through their breakfast, but he did confirm that bread was nice after he took his first tentative bite. He even went back for a second helping of eggs.

"Watch out, Arch," said James. "Too many eggs and you'll be farting all day long."

Archie laughed. "He's really silly," he said to Manny. "He pretends he's serious, like, but he's not."

James and Manny had finished their eggs. James began tucking into his apple. Archie had got up to look around the room again.

"What's this green table for?" he asked.

"It's a pool table," said Manny. "It's a game you play with balls and a stick. You have to make the balls go in the holes."

"Oh," said Archie, sticking his hand into a pocket to investigate the hole, and looking surprised when he realised it disappeared deep into the table.

"You want a game, Arch?" asked James. "We can teach you how to play."

"How do yous knaa that?" squeaked Archie, incredulously. "I've never seen nowt like this before."

"When we were kids, the man who looked after us used to take us to a place sometimes, near his old house," said Manny. "It was full of tables like this one, and bigger ones for a game called snooker. Some of them didn't work anymore, but some did. We played for hours and hours sometimes."

"He used to tell us," began James, "that when he was maybe your age or a bit bigger, he used to go there with his friends, and one of them used to insist on using the one special table all the time. It had a picture on the felt of a lady in just her underwear, and his friend was obsessed with it."

"Grown-up ladies' bodies are weird," said Archie, ruffling his nose and sticking out his tongue. "Babies come out of their front bits headfirst."

"How d'you know that, Archie?" asked James

"I saw it happen a few times," said Archie. "It was disgusting. There was all blood and guts everywhere, like."

"I think it hurts a lot," said Manny, looking distant as if replaying a scene inside his eyeballs.

"I had to help when my sister was being born," said Archie, proudly. "Me mam was screaming the place down. I was like, mam, I cannit help ya if ya make us deaf!" He laughed his head off. James smiled.

"Shall we have a game, then, Arch?" said Manny, snapping out of his reverie.

"How about me and you against Manny?" suggested James.

"Alright," said Archie. "What do we have to do?"

Archie was particularly useless at first, barely able to avoid smacking himself, or others, or the walls and furniture with the cue. James kept encouraging him, and repositioning his arms and body, eventually helping Archie to at least shoot straight. Manny had started deliberately missing shots just to keep the game going. Archie lined up to aim a particularly easy pot, a yellow ball just hovering over one of the corner pockets. James helped him shape up again, leaning over to help direct Archie's movement. Archie squinted at the ball, his tongue playing at his upper lip. He prodded the white towards the desired ball. It was followed by the clack! of two balls touching and the rumble of the yellow ball dropping into the pocket and being spat out the far end of the table.

"Hooray!" said James, lifting Archie's hands in celebration.

"Well done, Archie!" said Manny.

"I did it," grinned Archie. "I got one! Did you see that?"

James looked up to realise another boy was watching them. He'd recently started teaching Aaron, a twelve-year-old who looked lanky and gormless – a skinny, awkward young boy – but was in fact rather bright. James considered him one to push towards an apprenticeship with Doctor Amrit. He'd tried that before with a girl, Imogen, but her family raised lots and lots of chickens on the south side of town, and it was decided – by whom it was not clear – that she'd prefer to use her brains just to teach kids to read and write, so as she still had plenty of time to help out with the chickens. Aaron was a second chance at getting a youngster for Amrit, and James now had a few years to crack it. His father was a carpenter, and his mother looked after little kids whose parents were busy with other things. Surely there was no obstacle for Aaron.

"Um… morning, James," Aaron said, pulling shyly at his tee-shirt. "Kitchen asked me to come get all your plates and that if you were done."

"Oh, that's okay, Aaron," said James. "We can give you a hand if you like."

"It's no bother," said Aaron. "I brung the tray."

Aaron began loading plates and cutlery to be returned to the kitchens. His back seemed quite deliberately to the three around the pool table. James looked up at Manny. Manny made a swinging gesture with his hand under his chin. Game over.

"Come on, Archie, you win," said James. "Time for us to go and have a little chat in my office, I think."

***

"Do you like girls, Archie?"

James and Archie were sat facing each other in the comfy chairs of James' office. Archie had a dog-eared, off-lime armchair, so worn and soft in the middle that it seemed to swallow his little body when he sat down. A glass of water, sweetened with a dash of blackcurrant cordial, sat on the corner of the desk closest to him. He fidgeted with his hands.

"I s'pose."

"What do you think about girls?" asked James.

"I dunnaa what you mean, like," protested Archie, curling against one corner of the armchair and pulling his arms inside his tee shirt defensively. "Can't we talk about summat else?"

"Sorry, Archie. I didn't realise it was a hard question."

Archie wriggled, his body cooped up in his top. If he looked at James at all, his gaze didn't get far beyond the man's shoes.

"Archie," said James, softly. "I'm not asking if you fancy any girls. I don't care about that. I just want to try to understand your feelings a bit better. That's all."

"I don't fancy anyone!" Archie defended, pushing his shoulder further into the side of the chair.

"What do you feel, Arch?"

"Dunnaa…"

"Your mom's a girl. How do you feel about her?"

"I really, really love me mam, obviously," said Archie, rolling his eyes. "I wouldn't be here without her."

"I could see how much you loved her from watching you with her yesterday," smiled James. "She loves you very much too."

"Yeah…" said Archie, his voice wavering a little. He blinked back the threat of tears and released an arm to wipe roughly at his nose with the back of his hand. "I love me sister, too. She's a girl."

"It's always special to be close to your brothers or sisters," agreed James.

"Aye, like, I'd do anything for Bella. I'd fight anyone who tried to hurt her, no matter who they were. I love her to bits."

Archie smiled a broad smile, his head back against the chair. His eyes were still clouded glass. James was struck with the contradictions of this little boy once again, but something about the sheer emotion of Archie's bond with his mother and sister pulled at James' gut. It was familiar, like putting on an old pair of pants that had gotten lost at the back of the drawer. He watched Archie; let the lad's little reverie last a few ticks longer.

"What about men, Archie? How do you feel about them?"

"Dunnaa," said Archie.

"Do you think men are scary sometimes?"

"Maybe," he said. "But when I was a bairn there were lots of men around, like."

James had to laugh. When I was a bairn… he was still barely ten years old.

"Why you laughing for?"

"Just the way you said it," said James. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. It's just cos you said when I was a bairn, and to me you're still little."

"I'm not little!" Archie protested. "I mean, when I was little. Properly little."

"So, when you were little you spent a lot of time around men?"

"Yeah. Me and me mam lived with the gang, over by the sea. There was the two of us, then – I dunnaa – ten blokes?"

"Just you and your mom and ten men?" asked James.

"Nah, there was other women, too," said Archie. "But more blokes than women."

"And other children…?"

"Yeah," said Archie. He puffed his chest out pridefully. "But I was the oldest."

"So one of the men was your dad?"

"One of them was, but I dunnaa which one. There was lots of 'em!"

"You don't have even a little clue which one was your dad?"

"Well," began Archie, smirking to himself, "I know it weren't Sammy, the black man. When a black man goes with a woman it makes a brown baby, and I'm not brown."

"That's true enough," smiled James. "But what if a black man makes a baby with a black woman?"

"Hadaway man!" guffawed Archie. "Dinnit be stupid! There's no such thing as black women!"

James was trying very hard not to laugh again. He instantly thought of meeting Manny's nana, and what he'd make of the turn this conversation had taken. Instead, barely controlling his mouth, he managed to pose Archie a simple question: "Where do black men come from, then, if there aren't any black women?"

"Easy," smiled Archie, looking satisfied. "Sometimes when a black man goes with a woman and it makes a baby, if the baby is a boy they can come out black instead of brown. And that's where black men come from."

James was in tears trying not to burst out laughing in front of Archie. "Arch, who told you this?"

"Nobody," said Archie. "I worked it out for meself."

James couldn't help snorting and blowing a raspberry with his lips.

"What's the matter with you now?" sighed Archie. "I thought you was clever, like."

"Sorry, Archie," giggled James, calming himself down as much as he could. "Tell me more about the men, then."

"Well, there was one bloke called Tyrone. He was really nice to me all the time. He played with me whenever I wanted and never got angry and called me names or shouted or smacked me bum. I think he might have been me dad."

"You think?" said James. "Where is he now, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Dunnaa. Probs still by the sea, like. We ran away from them."

"Why did you run away?" asked James. "Why did you have to?"

"Some of the blokes…" began Archie, looking instantly uncomfortable again in the chair. "Some of the blokes… well… I dunnaa. They weren't very… wasn't very nice."

"Are you okay, Archie?" asked James.

"Yeah," replied the boy. He wriggled his bottom against the chair and crossed and uncrossed his ankles. He took a sip of his cordial.

"Were the men not nice to you, ever?"

"Sometimes they'd get angry," said Archie. "A lot. And they was drunk a lot, too."

"Did you and the women and the other kids get hurt when the men were angry and drunk?"

Archie let out a very deep, long sigh. "Sometimes," he whispered. "A lot."

"What sort of things did they do, Archie?"

"I…" Archie squirmed again in the chair. He balled his fists and rubbed them against his face. "I… I dinnit wanna talk about it now! They were… they're just bullies. That's what it is."

"Bullies aren't nice, are they, Archie?"

"I hate bullies!"

"Was Angelika a bully, Archie?"

"She's horrible," spat Archie. He'd gone from sounding whiny seconds earlier to sudden, palpable anger. "I really don't like her."

"What makes her horrible?" asked James, internally alarmed at the sudden change in Archie's tone.

"She's a nasty bitch," growled Archie. "She says nasty, horrible things. I hate her."

"Did you hurt Angelika because she was nasty?" asked James. He made sure his calm, inquisitive tone didn't change, but suddenly his heart was thumping a samba again.

"I told her to shut her mouth!"

"Or what?"

"Or I'd shut her trap for her," said Archie with a big, heaving sigh. "She got what she asked for."

"She deserved it?" asked James.

"Aye," said Archie, arms crossed and frowny faced.

"You got her back?" suggested James.

Archie didn't directly respond. He just huffed and folded his arms tighter.

"Does getting revenge prove the other person is bad?" tried James.

"Dunnaa."

"Does hurting someone on the outside prove they're nasty on the inside?"

"I don't get what you're saying, man!" stropped Archie, sliding out his legs and riding the seat cushion half off, so he was flopped out, arms still folded, with his legs bent at the knee to hold his back still on the chair, his chin buried into his chest.

"Did hurting Angelika show that she'd hurt you inside, or did it just hurt her outside?"

"Hurt her outside," mumbled Archie, grumpily.

"Right, so it didn't change whatever it was she'd done?"

"No."

"How has hurting Angelika made you feel inside now, Archie?"

"I feel… I feel…"

The cushion slid fully out from underneath Archie's bottom, causing him to drop to the floor with a bounce and a thud. James sprang to his feet and gathered the boy up.

"Here, silly," he said. "Come and sit with me."

James sat back down and manoeuvred Archie into position between his legs, to rest on one of his knees with James' arms supporting his shoulders. He was loose and pliant, like kneading dough in the kitchens.

"How has it made you feel inside now, Arch."

"Sad," he whimpered, softly. "Sad, and upset, and… I feel like…"

"It's okay," whispered James, stroking Archie's back gently. "Take your time. I'm here."

"I feel…" Archie grunted, barely able to make the words come out. "I feel… wrong. Like, dirty all the time. Like I'm wrong, and bad…"

"Because you hurt Angelika?" asked James, soothing the boy's spine back and forth with his hand.

"Cos I… I…"

Archie was weeping silently on James' knee, sat totally still, barely moving, save from the quaking of his body that rocked through James' thigh. Archie wasn't breathing; just crying. James continued to stroke they boy's back, his head aflame with a thousand thoughts, alarms howling up and down amongst the smoke. Eventually Archie had to breathe. His body couldn't hold up any longer. He took a great, rasping, gulping breath, sobs heaving through his body as oxygen flooded his lungs again.

"I… I…" he heaved between sobs, tears soaking the collar and shoulders of his stretched-out tee-shirt. "I wanna… go back… to me room!"

"Okay," whispered James, hauling the hysterical boy into his arms and standing up. "Okay, matey. Don't worry. We'll take you back now."

"James?" sobbed Archie, leaking all over James' shoulder as he carried the lad back to his little cell.

"Yes, Archie?"

"I made me mam feel sad and upset as well, didn't I? And Bella too."

"I suppose so Archie," replied James. "Because they care about you and are worried about you. But don't you worry about that now. We'll take you back and you can have a nice little sleep and feel better."

"What's Bella gonna do now I'm not there if she has a bad dream?" Archie sobbed against James' neck, his arms wrapped around James and balled into fists between the man's shoulder blades. "How's Bella gonna sleep?"

***

James tried to think of the first time he realised how much he loved Manny. How much it meant to him for his joys and sorrows to be Manny's and Manny's to be his. Stood outside Archie's door, with the back of his cranium to the heavy wood, it came to him, just as he heard the muffled sound of the boy beginning to cry himself out and fall into a nap. He'd been twelve that summer. That was when it became clear to him for the first time that he and Manny would be companions for life, no matter what.

***

"Manny?" said James, in a groggy whine. "Is that you? What are you doing?"

"Shh! You'll wake Jake up!"

"Why are you in my room?" whispered James, as loudly as he thought he could get away with. "I was just drifting off to sleep!"

"I wrote something but only you're allowed to look at it," Manny whispered in return. "Here!" Manny handed James a piece of paper, which crackled and crumpled in his fist as he pushed it onto James in the dark of the bedroom. "You have to read it now, though."

"Why?" said James. "And how? Jake doesn't let me keep matches in here for the candles, and he'd know if we went to the kitchen to get some."

"Don't worry. I brought this!" said Manny, flicking the switch on Jake's wind-up torch to reveal himself grinning broadly next to James' bed, dressed in only his boxer shorts.

"That's bright!" complained James, squinting at the sudden luminosity. "Point it away from me!"

"Sit up!" said Manny, bouncing himself bottom-first onto James bed and scooting back over James' thighs to sit his back against the cool of the wall.

"Why are you so annoying?" groaned James, bending his legs at the knee and reluctantly pulling himself up to rest half sat-up against the headboard of his bed. "What's so important that I have to read it in the middle of the night?"

"You'll see! Just read it. I want to watch while you read it."

"And you shouldn't just barge in here when I'm in bed," continued James, in his special affronted voice that he mainly reserved for Manny. "What if I'd been… well, you know."

"I'd have joined in!" giggled Manny. "Read it!"

"Give me that!" said James with an exaggerated huff as he snatched the torch from Manny. "Okay, what have you written?"

***

What I did with Megan in Wales

On the second day in Wales I said I needed a poo when really I didn't and I went to the bushes with Meg. She said she needed a wee but I didn't know if it was true or wether she was wanting to play like me but anyway I was hoping I would see her fanny and maybe her bum too.

When we went a little way into the bushes weare no one could see us I asked Meg do you really need a wee and she said yeah and I said I need one too but I don't really need a poo. So she said shall we go together and I said would you like to go one at a time so we can watch each other. I was really nervus that I said the rong thing but she sort of blushed and giggled and said ok but you go first. I said how much you wanna see and she shrugged and said I dunno. So I pushed your pants that I was wearing rite off and kicked them away so I was totally naked in front of her.

I started forcing wee out but it was hard because I was getting hard. So really it was just Meg looking at my stiffy while I tried to force some dribbles out. Then I said do you want to aim it and she said is it hard and I said yes it will be when you touch it and she laffed at me. Then I took her hand and put it on my hard willy and let her point it while I did more wee. Then I said to her look the skin moves back if you push it but then she did it too hard and it was a bit sore so I said it's your turn to wee for me now.

I didn't put your pants I borrowed back on yet and meg said are you gonna stay naked and I said yes will you get naked too please. She said I'll take my bottoms right off but I'm leaving the bikini top on and I said ok because she didn't have any boobs anyway so there was no point in moaning. So meg kicked her swimming trunks off and squatted down and she had this puffy front hole with little blonde hairs around the edge and wee came out of it in a big gush so I leaned in to see as close as I coud without getting wet. I said meg I really like your fanny I think it is pretty and she said thanks I like your thing too it is bigger and better looking than my brother has.

Then I said to her when she was finished you touched mine so can I touch yours too and she said ok just a second and got a leaf to wipe some of the drips off. Then she said it might be a bit wet still I hope you don't mind and I said no that's kind of sexy to me. So I was still hard and I leant down and put my hand right on her fanny and squeezed it a bit and it was really warm. Then I rubbed around the outside of it a bit and felt the slit part with my middle finger and let it rub inside a bit and she gasped. So I knelt down and went to kiss it too but she laffed and pushed my head away and said I was desckusting. So I said I'll show you my bum if you let me see yours and she said ok and turned around and bent over so I rubbed my fingertip against her bum hole. Then I turned around and let her do the same to me. Then she said ok that's enough now let's go back to the sea so I put your pants back on and she put her bottoms back on and we went back to the sea.

Girls bodies are really interesting and different and maybe I should have asked to see her boobs anyway even if she hasn't grown any yet. My willy has been hard the whole time I was writing this and I hope yours is too now.

Manny xxx

***

James finished reading the letter and gave Manny a wide-eyed grin. Manny beamed back and the two boys giggled together, only barely containing themselves when they heard the sound of movement on the bed in Jake's room next door. James squirmed out from beneath the bedsheets and sidled right up next to Manny, thigh-to-thigh leaning against the wall.

"Look!" said James, stretching the waistband of his underpants as far forward as it would go. Manny took the torch and shined it directly onto James' crotch.

"Stiffy in the spotlight!" he whisper-giggled.

"Let's read it again!" said James. "I'll read it out loud."

James read the note again in an excited whisper, but the boys had to stop after almost every sentence, either for giggles or to make grabs for their own – and eventually, each other's – boy bits. James finished reading and dropped the paper to his lap, looking Manny in the eye and bursting into another round of giggles and sniggers.

"Thanks, Manny," he said. "I'm glad you showed me that. It was really sexy."

"That's why I wanted to see you read it!" said Manny, glowing with pride.

"Just needs one more thing," said James, crawling roughly across the bed to make a grab for a pen on his desk, before plopping himself back against Manny's thigh, shaking the entire bed. He folded the paper in half and wrote on the back cover.

Secret message

For James' eyes only

Absolutely NO! peeking

James and Manny sexiest boys forever

Summer in Wales, age 12

"I'll keep it with my important stuff," said James. "I like to keep things like this as reminders. I dunno why."

"Thanks, James," said Manny. "I'm really happy that you liked it!"

James had crawled forward again to drop the folded piece of paper on his desk. He turned towards Manny and knelt, palms on his bare mid-thighs, smiling at the other boy. "Do you want to sleep in my bed tonight?"

"Will there be enough room?" said Manny.

"Even better if there isn't," grinned James. "Take your pants off!"

"Okay!" said Manny, whipping down his boxers to reveal his willy still stiff and throbbing. James also discarded its underwear, throwing it at random across the room in the dark. James crawled back under his bedcovers.

"Get in!" he said to Manny. Manny leapt into place to scoot in alongside James, pressed into spoons in the single bed. James reached his arm over to feel for Manny's ramrod, imagining Meg doing the same under sun-dappled eaves a couple of days previously. "If I do yours, will you do mine?"

"Yeah," breathed Manny, reaching a hand behind himself to pull James' stiff willy away from his right bum cheek and take it in a firmer grip. "First one to finish has to kiss Jake's bum in the morning!"

"Deal!" laughed James, and he began to manipulate Manny's dick at pace.

***

The kitchen didn't get much sunlight during the mornings, so it was always cool at breakfast time, especially when barefoot on the floor tiles. James and Manny were sat at the table in their pyjamas. Jake busied himself with preparing breakfast in his dressing gown. James let out a great yawn, aspirating it with a high-pitched accompaniment.

"Tired?" said Jake, not turning around from the worktop.

"A bit," said James, stretching his arms out above his head.

"I'm not surprised, you two up giggling half the night."

"No we weren't!" protested Manny, looking at James with a wobbly smirk. James couldn't stop himself sniggering. He had to hold both hands to his face to stop himself laughing. Manny got the giggles too.

"Right," said Jake, opening a drawer to source a chopping knife. "I believe you, thousands wouldn't."

The boys burst into another fit of bottoms-wetting giggles, their eyes dancing brightly at each other.

"That's why when I stuck my head through Manny's partially-open bedroom door this morning, there was nobody there."

"You should be happy we want to spend time together," said James.

"Yeah, Jake," added Manny. "We were having fun. Not arguing or fighting or anything."

"I am happy," said Jake, leaning over the chopping board. "Just remember: not every night can be sleepover night. You do need to get your rest, too, or else you won't ever grow, and you'll have to be my little boys forever."

"We'll be sensible, Jake," insisted James.

"We're trustworthy," grinned Manny, before bursting into giggles again.

"Oh, Jake?" smirked James. "Manny has something he wants to give you, isn't that right, Manny?"

"Oh, no!" laughed Manny, screwed up his face, and slipped off his chair to creep up behind Jake.

"What are you pair of prats up to now?" sighed Jake, beginning to chop tomatoes. He was making them his special Turkish egg and tomato and chilli breakfast thing. They were always able to get the chillies to come in under the plastic sheeting at the height of summer.

Manny knelt down behind Jake as he worked, looked back at James and stuck out his bottom lip, though his eyes were a silly smile.

Go on! James mouthed, grinning widely. Manny sighed.

"Here's a special present to say how great you are, Jake," said Manny, in a rehearsed monotone. He stuffed his head underneath the bottom of Jake's gown and reached up until his face was pressed into the man's rear end. James heard him land a big, wet smacker on one of Jake's hairy cheeks.

James was instantly in such a violent fit of quaking, squeaking giggles that this time there really was a little spot of dribble left on the crotch of his pyjama bottoms.

***

James came across Manny on his way to lunch. When he heard the main refrain of Atlas Air by Massive Attack booming out of the chapel organ, he knew it could only be one person. He watched at the door a while, remembering the jealousy of his youth, when Jake tried to teach them how to play the guitar and Manny was such a natural that he soon outstripped his teacher, while James could just do the basic chords. Anyone with hands and muscle memory can do the basic chords. Manny was so good, Jake started taking them to the old village hall, a few miles down the road, where there was an old piano for him to play. It was dilapidated and out of tune, so they learned to tune it. Jake explained which notes the keys were but said he couldn't play so he couldn't help, and Manny should just experiment. And Manny did.

Now he was building a bassy rhythm with the bottom-end keys. Jake used to tell them the lowest keys were called la boîte diabolique, but neither of them really believed him. As James approached Manny down the aisle, he realised Manny was singing along. Yes, shall we take a spin again in business? The time is fixed, let's sweeten our facilities. It took all the man in me, to be the dog you wanted me to be.

"Manny?"

"Shall we take a spin again, no witne– Oh! Jay! What are you up to? You alright?"

"Yeah, course."

"Well, you've got a face as long as Livery Street."

"Difficult session with Archie."

"Thought as much."

"You're talking to him this afternoon?"

"Yeah. Should I be gentle?"

"Try and get him to talk about what happened yesterday morning. There's something going on behind the scenes that we're not seeing."

"Right," said Manny. "No worries. Lunch?"

"Let's go," said James. "Smells like veg broth."

***

James absentmindedly made his way across Palace Green after having eaten his lunch. The sun was high in the sky, and the intense heat baked him into the hill like he was made of gingerbread. Sweat clung to every part of his body as he walked over the grass to cut down the street alongside the cathedral and come out in front of St Chad's. There were a couple of people walking back and forth, to and from the castle, but James ignored them. His head was engaged with thoughts of Archie and childhood.

"James!" a voice shouted. He thought it might be in his head. Then he realised it wasn't. "James Martin! Don't you fucking dare ignore me, you fucking stuck-up little prick!"

James turned around in shock to identify the source of the shouting; his heart jumping. It was Adam Wojnowski, marching towards him, arms and torso quivering, eyes boring through him with white-hot intensity.

"That little freak killed my daughter!" he bellowed, drawing up to James. "He battered her and drowned her in cold-fucking-blood! And you do what? Play games with the little scumbag!" He prodded at James' chest with each of the last few words. James' heart sank. He'd done the wrong thing again, and Aaron, of all people, had betrayed him.

"Adam, I'm so sorry for what's happened, I really am," stuttered James, stumbling over his words.

"Really?!"

"But… but if I don't build a relationship with Archie, I can't get him to trust me and open up, so… so I can't find out what r-really happened!"

"What really happened?!" Adam roared at the top of his voice. "What really happened?! I'm gonna say this slow, since you don't have a kid of your own: he fucking murdered my daughter! My daughter! That's what happened! If you can't see that, you're worse than him!"

James felt himself shaking. Adam was much bigger than him, built formidably, and lost far beyond his tether. It was like standing beneath a portable, vibrating solar eclipse. "It's my job to assess the facts and work out how to resp–" James yelped as Adam lifted him far off his feet by the scruff of his tee-shirt.

"Adam!" another voice called. It was Dan Turner, emerging into James' vision from the side at a sprint. "Adam, marra, let's not do this, eh?"

Adam pulled James face to face with him, so close James could taste Adam panting. "Only a fucking queer like you would feel sympathy for a little rat like that. Does he remind you of yourself, the little freak boy?" He sprayed James' face with saliva as he spat every word through gritted teeth.

"Adam!" barked Dan, yanking James loose of the man's grip. "You don't say things like that! There's no need for any of this. Let the man do his job and ignore it if you don't like it. There'll be a time and place to say your piece, in the proper way. You got that?"

"Fuck off!" said Adam, pushing James away by his chest. "Fuck off, the lot of yas! Fucking shite, man!"

James felt the stretch that had appeared in the front of his tee-shirt as Adam turned his back and stormed away towards the cathedral entrance. Dan clapped James on the back.

"You canny, man?" he asked.

James nodded and swallowed hard. "I think so."

"It's not right, y'knaa, what he said, like. You're just doing as you've been told. Folk have to respect that. No need to bring owt else into it."

"I know," said James. "It's alright."

"It's not alright," replied Dan, shaking his head. "He's beside himself, like, but it's proper disrespectful to be saying what he said. No excuses for it."

"Really, Dan, I don't want to think about it," said James. "Thanks for breaking it up."

"Aye," said Dan. "Just watch yourself, eh? It's not your fault, but you know how folk can be, butting in left, right and centre."

"Thanks," said James, and headed off on significantly wobblier legs back on his short journey to St Chad's. Dan stood and watched him disappear through the door.

James weaved through the corridors of the old college, dimly aware of their faded grandeur, heading for the glass-roofed indoor courtyard and its door out to the gardens. He was trying very hard not to cry as he emerged out into the knee-length grass, and heard yet another, much more welcome and familiar voice, calling his name.

"Uncle James!"

"Hey, Theo!" smiled James, letting the boy run up to him and be taken into his arms. "How are you?" he said, forearms supporting Theo's bottom as his nephew wrapped his legs around James' waist and draped his arms about James' neck.

"I had a bad dream!" said Theo.

"Oh, no!" said James. "That's a shame, matey. Are you feeling better now?"

"Yeah!" said Theo, smiling into James' face. "We came to see the tortoise! Did you come to see him too?"

"I did," confirmed James. "Hi, Tracey."

"Hello, James," she said, smiling. Then she saw the obvious stretch in the front of his shirt, the sallowness of his skin, and the wateriness of his eyes. "Are you alright?"

"It's nothing," said James. "Much better for seeing you two."

"Doesn't look like nothing," said Tracey. "Theo, why don't you go and find the tortoise and bring it back up here for all of us to play?"

"Kay, mammy," he said, allowing James to gently lower him to the floor, so he could run off through the grass to find the star attraction.

"What's happened?" asked Tracey, touching James softly on the arm.

"I ran into Adam Wojnowski," mumbled James.

"Oh."

"One of the boys saw Manny and me teaching Archie how to play pool over breakfast. He wasn't best pleased."

"Argh, no…" sighed Tracey, shaking her head. "Come here." She pulled James into a hug and rubbed his back. "He didn't hurt you, did he?"

"I think he would've done, had Dan Turner not showed up."

"You have to tell Manny," said Tracey. "You can't be putting up with this, just for doing your job. Kenzie should never have put the two of you in this position all on your own."

"It's fine, Tracey," said James. "He's just still in shock. We probably shouldn't have been so casual with Archie. He has a point."

"No, he doesn't," said Tracey. "It's up to you and Manny to handle all this in your own way. No matter how devastated someone is, they don't have the right to go around roughing people up because they disagree with them."

"I just don't want to think about it anymore," said James.

Tracey touched his elbow again and they stood in silence. Theo was somewhere down the garden, excitedly talking to the tortoise.

"Come on, Henry! We'll never get anywhere if you keep going that slow! No, up here silly! That's were mammy and Uncle James are waiting for us!"

"Did Manny mention anything about last night to you," asked Tracey, with a sharp intake of breath.

"Only that Theo had a nightmare," replied James. "Why? Is there something else?"

"I said some things that I probably shouldn't have done," said Tracey. "But it doesn't mean I don't think they're true."

"What do you mean?"

"About Jake," said Tracey, lowering your voice. "About how the two of you were abused. I don't want working on this Archie thing to open up any old wounds for the pair of you."

"There aren't any wounds to open," said James, shaking his head, "because Jake never hurt us. He loved us and raised us in his own way, and we loved him back."

"I know that's the way you both feel," said Tracey, "but I don't want to see either of you get hurt. Promise me you'll talk to each other. And to me. I'm here if you need me."

"I know. Thanks, Trace."

"S'alright," she said. "We're family."

"Mammy! Uncle James!" hollered Theo, running unsteadily up the garden with Henry the tortoise held out in front of him.

"Don't fall!" replied Tracey instinctively, watching her little boy stumble through the long grass with the wriggling reptile.

"I had to pick him up cos he was being too-oo slow!" chirped Theo, grinding to a halt in front of the adults. He plopped the tortoise down at their feet and stroked its head tentatively with a forefinger. "There you go, Henry. You're in the right place now."

"He likes this time of year," said James. "It's the right temperature for him."

"He sleeps all the winter," nodded Theo. "I remember from when I was four."

"Clever boy," said James. "Doctor Amrit takes him somewhere warm every winter and lets him go to sleep."

"He's going away!" said Theo. "But I can catch him easy. Come back, Henry!"

"Shall we get him some nice leaves to eat?" suggested Tracey.

"Yeah!" said Theo. "It was just lunchtime, so he must be hungry if he didn't eat before."

James wandered over to a nearby plant and plucked a stem of leaves. Theo bounced after him.

"Do you know what this is?" James said.

Theo looked at the leaves closely. There were purple and white flowers growing on the end of the stalk, so Theo leaned in for an exaggerated sniff.

"Smells funny," he said.

"It does a bit," said James. "It's called catnip. Cats think it smells funny too, and when they sniff it, it makes them act all barmy."

"Really?" gasped Theo. "Will you show me with Shelley one day?"

"Course I will," said James, ruffling Theo's hair and eliciting a giggle.

"What about tortoises?" he asked. "Will Henry like to sniff on it too?"

"I think he might like to eat it," said James. He handed the stalk to Theo. "Why don't you give it him?"

"Thanks!" said Theo, snatching excitedly at the stalk of catnip. He bounced into a deep squat in front of the tortoise. "Look Henry, I got you cat-nit to eat!"

Henry looked at the plant with bored exasperation. He chomped down on the flowers with his beak at an unconcerned pace.

"He likes that, Theo," said Tracey. "Are you going to feed him the rest?"

"I'm going to feed him all of it!"

James had wandered back to stand beside Tracey and watch Theo happily play with Henry.

"How long are you going to put off getting back to the carpentry?" he asked.

"No idea," said Tracey. "Look at him. I'd miss him too much."

"It doesn't have to be all day, at least not at first," said James. "Besides, I'm sure Theo would love getting to play with other kids his own age all day long."

"I know," said Tracey. "I know. This probably sounds bad, but I just don't… I don't trust the women who look after the little ones to do and say the right thing with him all the time. It's like I have this urge to make everything perfect for him all of the time, and I can't bear having any of that out of my control."

"It's natural," replied James. "I think all parents must feel like that about their kids. But it's also natural for him to have to go off and have experiences of his own sooner or later."

"I'm not ready to let him go."

"He'd be fine, really. Besides, here Theo has everything he needs. Friendly people around, other kids his own age to be around; neither me nor Manny had any of that."

"Angelika Wojnowski had all of that, too, though."

"S'pose," James conceded. "How many other kids has that happened to here, though?"

"Yeah, yeah," sighed Tracey. "I know, I'm paranoid. It's really scary, though. You'd understand if you had one of your own."

"Why do people keep saying that to me?" huffed James, somewhat involuntarily.

"Oh, sorry…" Tracey winced. "Was that one of the things Adam said? I didn't mean it in a bad way, like."

Theo had sidled up and placed himself under James' arm, leant against his thigh. He looked up expectantly.

"Uncle James…?"

"Let me guess," said James, squatting down at eye-level with Theo. "Tickle mouse?"

Theo broke into a wide grin and nodded his head enthusiastically. James ran his fingertips along the crests of Theo's shoulders.

"Hmm…" said James. "I wonder where the mouse could be today."

"Not telling!" Theo whispered with excited breathlessness.

"Do you think it's maybe… under here?" said James, rubbing the tip of his forefinger under Theo's chin. Theo smirked, clamped his chin down, and shook his head. James forced his fingers under Theo's slightly sweat-dampened chin and neck, tickling him all around there and rubbing his fingertips back and forth in circles through Theo's dark, wavy hair, tickling his scalp. Theo squealed and giggled. As James slowed the tickling down, he watched him with big, hickory eyes.

"Hmm, no mouse there," said James. He ran his fingertips along Theo's breastbone. "I think… I think it must be in here!"

James' right hand dived for Theo's left armpit. He reflexively clamped the arm down and shook his head. "Not there!" he said.

"Well, I'll have to check to be sure!" replied James, his fingers darting up the sleeve of Theo's tee-shirt and digging savagely at a slippery, slimy armpit. Theo squealed and writhed as James supported him with his free arm.

"It's not there!" he squeaked and panted.

"Ah, well it must be the other one, then!" growled James, and pushed the fingers of his left hand into Theo's right armpit, assailing the boy from both sides. Theo was fitting with laughter and flopped down on his back on the grass, wriggling and rolling and kicking his legs. James relented.

"No mice there."

"Mmph," grunted Theo, shaking his head, his lips sealed and smirking.

"I know where it must be," said James, running his fingers up and down Theo's flanks as he shook and squirmed in anticipation. "I know here that mouse is hiding. It's right… up… here!"

James darted both sets of fingers up Theo's top and set about tickling his sides and belly at light speed, causing his little nephew to scream and writhe in the grass, kicking his legs and flailing his arms.

"I got it!" laughed James. "I got the mouse!"

He tickled Theo harder. Theo tried to squirm away.

"Uncle… James… stop…" he panted. "I'm… gonna… wee…"

James let go and raised himself back up on his haunches. Tracey watched on over his head, smiling broadly at the two boys playing in the grass.

***

Shelley, the castle's tortoiseshell cat, was curled up on James' chair when he returned to his office. Dropping a sprig of catnip in the middle of the floor soon shifted her. She was on it within seconds, inhaling ravenously at the scented leaves. She rolled onto her back, purring intensely and twisting back and forth on the rug.

James had just turned away from her, pen in hand, to try to begin making some sense of what had happened with Archie that morning, when Rob pushed his door open uninvited.

"Can I help you?" James snapped.

"Little bird tells me you've been enjoying spending time with the murderer boy."

"Really?" sighed James, turning to his paper and scribbling a note so as not to have to engage with Rob's gamesmanship.

"Very friendly, the two of you, I heard."

James ignored him. He couldn't focus on what he wanted to note down, but he continued trying to mindmap anyway, just to exclude Rob from his train of thought.

"There's rumours about you, you know, James Martin," sneered Rob, taking a step closer.

"I'm trying to work, Rob," said James. "I don't know if you've realised, but there's this really important and sensitive matter that I've been asked to recommend judgement on."

"Some people are saying that you're not just a bog-standard poofter. Word is that you've been taking it up the arse since you were the killer kid's age." Rob took another step closer, looming over James at his desk. "Seems to me a person like that might not be the best judge of something like this. Might find a bit too much sympathy with weird little boys, if you know what I mean. And if he made the wrong call, imagine what people would think when they found out why?"

"Are you done?" said James, scribbling at the paper in front of him.

"You tell me," said Rob, taking another step closer. "Aaaargh! Oh fuck! What the hell is wrong with this fucking cat?!"

There was the sound of caterwauling and hissing. Rob leant onto the back of James' chair, spinning it around as he lost his balance and went off hopping across the room. Shelley was attached to his lower leg, bushy tailed and dug in with all four sets of claws. She hissed and spat again, before landing another bite on Rob's calf.

"Oooh! Fucking get her off me!"

"I wouldn't pick a fight with her, Rob," said James, shaking his head. "She's high as a kite right now. She probably has no idea what's going on."

"What've you done to her you bliddy lunatic?! Aargh!" With a strong kick of his stricken leg, and a push at Shelley's face that earned him a nip on the hand sharp enough to draw blood, he had the cat disentangled from his trousers and skin. Shelley trotted angrily to the far end of the room and circled back around, hissing and spitting at Rob again.

"It's like a fucking nuthouse in here!" boomed Rob, taking a kick at James' green armchair with his good foot before crashing noisily from the office. The sound of him stomping like a petulant child echoed back up the staircase.

James looked at the page in front of him, tore it away and balled it up. He growled as he threw it at the wall. Shelley timidly went back for another hit of catnip, taking several big sniffs before trotting woozily over to hop onto James' desk. Her eyes were still tunnel-wide, and her tail had half de-fluffed. With the paper out of the way, she shuffled into a seated position in the middle of James' desk and smiled across at him with her eyes.

"You don't like bullies, do you, Shell?" said James, timidly tickling her behind a pointed ear in case he was about to get savaged, too. She began to purr again, closing her eyes and pushing her chin and shiny, wet nose forward. Maybe James was right; Shelley really went for Rob because he was such a no-mark bully. Then a thought came to him; a thought that Archie had expressed earlier, almost offhand. I hate bullies! He stood ready to head out on a business call. Shelley looked at him quizzically. He sat back down and picked up his pen again, writing a short note with one hand and fussing the cat with the other.

James noticed a trail of blood spots on the stairs as he jogged down them. He detoured past Manny's office on his way out. The door was closed; he'd be in there with Archie. He folded the note and slid it under the door.

***

The sun played shadow games with the eaves as James walked along the deep channel of the road under Whinney Hill towards Maiden Castle and Shincliffe. Bumblebees hung in the air in open disrespect of the laws of physics, and plenty of other bird and insect life skittered around, moving to the beat of their own up-tempo drum. He walked alongside the sports ground at Maiden Castle. Even in the strangling heat, some five or six kids were out playing late-afternoon football on the old rubber crumb. A girl picked up the ball fifteen metres or so out from where they'd dragged a small-sized goal into place on the halfway line, turned the boy in front of her so effectively that he fell roughly on his bum, and unleashed a bullet shot into the top corner of the net. She hopped into a spin in mid-air and punched the sky with delight as she wheeled around.

"Did you see that, James?" said a boy with white-blond hair and an effeminate voice. He was gripping the bars of the cage around the pitch to talk to James through it, and he leaned forward, emphasising the ampleness of his round bottom.

"She's good, isn't she, Ryan?" replied James.

"Yeah," the boy nodded, and smiled.

"Better get back in your goal; the game's starting again," said James, nodding at the pitch.

Ryan turned around and jogged off into place. "Bye, James!" he called.

James arrived at Josh Holleran's chicken farm a few minutes later to find that Imogen wasn't there. "She's with the goats on the far side of the river," Josh gruffly informed him. James turned himself around back towards Maiden Castle, but, rather than following the road over the bridge back to the city, he turned right down a lane that followed the river around to the old sports field on the opposite bank from the fancier facilities, where he assumed Imogen and the goats would be. The six children had decided to take a rest from their game and took shade under the trees across the river.

"James!" called Ryan over the water. "Will you come and play with us?"

"Not today," James replied. "Maybe another time!"

His arrival had therefore been telegraphed before he reached the spot where Imogen stood, the goats going about their business all around her.

"James," she said, smiling. "Is this a social call?"

"Hi, Immy," said James. "Afraid not. There's something I wanted to talk to you about, to do with this thing I've been asked to work on."

"Oh," said Imogen, scrunching up her mouth and furrowing her brow. "The murder? Is this about Angelika?"

"Archie," said James.

"Right," she responded. "What is it you think I can tell you?"

James was interrupted by a scruffy old billy goat coming to nuzzle itself up against him. He bleated and nibbled at James' arm.

"Hello, Cubster," James smiled warmly. "I remember when you were born."

"Oh, you know Cubby?" said Imogen.

"Cybi was one of mine and Manny's when we were teenagers," said James. "We donated him to your dad when we gave up our farm."

"I never knew that," said Imogen, watching the old goat rub itself and bleat affectionately at James as he gently fussed it around the head and neck. "I did always wonder why he had such a funny name."

"We visited Wales one summer," explained James. "When our nanny goat had kids, we decided to give them Welsh names."

"Oh, right," smiled Imogen. "That's actually really cool. What does it mean?"

"No idea," laughed James. "Our dad just gave us a few to choose from and we liked that one."

"Typical boys," chuckled Imogen. "How can I help you, then?"

"I was wondering," began James, considering how best to phrase his request. "I was wondering if you had any thoughts, from your experience, about how Archie tends to get on with other kids."

"Can you be more specific?" said Imogen. "I don't want to start talking off the top of my head and realise I've only said stuff because other people say he's a murderer."

"I taught you that," said James, proudly. "Confirmation bias."

"You're too clever for this world," nodded Imogen. "It's like you dropped out of the sky or something."

"I just had a good teacher," said James. "Like you. And like Archie."

"Flattery will get you nowhere," said Imogen. "What kind of thing do you really want to hear about him?"

"Is he being bullied?"

Imogen sighed. "Well, I'm not the only person who works with the bairns his age," she said. "And when I'm there, I always put a stop to anything like that as soon as I see it developing. But yes, in the couple of years I've known him, I would say Archie's had some trouble getting on with other kids."

"What sort of trouble?"

"Just bairns' stuff; teasing, name-calling, all of that," said Imogen. "I always stamp it out pretty quick, like, cos – as you knaa – what's bairns' stuff to us is serious stuff to them. But I do think he's been an easy target, having only moved here a few years back, when all the other kids were born here, pretty much. And his mother isn't exactly very social with the other adults."

"So, he's picked on for being different," asked James, fishing for confirmation.

"Well, I don't think he helps himself," responded Imogen. "He's not exactly the easiest kid to like."

"He's a ten-year-old boy," said James, so defensively that it surprised him. "From talking to him, it seems to me like he's been through some tough times that have maybe made him more cautious or wary. Don't you think?"

"He can be quite timid," mused Imogen. "But quite highly-strung as well, like. Maybe the two go together."

"Did he ever have particular trouble with certain other kids?"

"Look, James, I knaa you want me to say Angelika," Imogen grimaced, "but, honestly, I never saw any massive hostility between them. It was other boys Archie seemed to struggle with the most."

"Archie seemed to struggle," parroted James. "Almost as if it was his fault he was being picked on."

"You knaa what I mean," snapped Imogen, shaking her head. She softened and reached over to place a hand on her teacher's shoulder. "You're really invested in this, aren't you?"

"I never meant to be," sighed James.

"They get under your skin," nodded Imogen. "I thought you already knew that."

"I wouldn't be here if I didn't."

"Ah, how man. Anyway, you reckon he is, like?"

"Is what?" asked James.

"You knaa. A murderer."

James shrugged. "Probably," he said, "but I don't think it can ever be that simple when you're talking about a ten-year-old."

"Exactly the sort of thing I'd expect you to say," grinned Imogen.

"Thanks, Immy," smiled James.

"No bother," she said. "And good luck, yeah?"

***

James' mind wandered out of pace with his feet as he headed back to the castle. He thought of how kids could be with each other, and tried to trace the line between banter, childishness, and bullying. There had to be more to this. There had to be something to explain how a childish argument, or a child's grudge, could turn to violent murder. There had to be.

James was thirteen; Manny was twelve. They were in the living room of the summer house, playing a game. One of their nerd games, as Jake called them; games that took hours to play and required the boys to invest all their creative energy into them. Having procured them was a masterstroke in keeping them quiet.

"You're on Dantooine, boys. I know you're on Dantooine."

They were playing Star Wars: Rebellion. Jake played the evil factions all the time in their nerd games, because he had to be the game master so that the boys could play as the heroes and fashion their own story. He was the Empire, and they were the Rebel Alliance. And, with only a couple of moves left of the final turn, he had them cornered. He knew where their secret base was hiding.

"Get lost, Jake," said James, sticking his tongue out.

"How dare you speak to the Emperor in that manner," said Jake, completely deadpan. "You will regret your insolence when you're toiling in my dungeon later."

"Toil this," razzed Manny, reaching forward from his cross-legged position to place their final unused hero on the board. "Jedi Luke Skywalker moves all our forces in Mygeeto to Dantooine!"

"No!" protested James. "What are you doing that for?"

"Cos he knows we're there!" said Manny. "We can't exactly hide it anymore, but if we move more forces back there, we might still hold him off."

"Don't be stupid," hissed James. "He's got half his fleet and a Death Star in Dathomir! If he moves everything across his Death Star will just destroy the base anyway!"

"If we don't move everything to the base, his fleet will just capture it anyway!" Manny shot back. Their voices were beginning to rise.

"No, Manny!" said James. "I'm the Admiral, you're the General. I can overrule you. I want Jedi Luke Skywalker to move to Dathomir and play this mission!" He flopped a mission card to attack and destroy the Death Star down on the board. It had Luke's head on it; it was a mission that favoured him.

"But – but it's my turn!" cried Manny. "Tell him he can't do that, Jake. Tell him!"

"James," said Jake, breaking character. "It is Manny's turn. Why don't you let him make the move he thinks is best?"

"You're just saying that because you know it helps you win!" huffed James. "I'm the Admiral. I can overrule my General. That's the rules."

"Oh, stop being such a bumhole," growled Manny, scattering the rest of his unspent mission cards face up across the floor in frustration.

"It's the rules, Manny. You were gonna make us lose."

"Okay, James," sighed Jake. "If you want to overrule Manny, go ahead. But just wait and see what happens."

"I'm playing Jedi Luke Skywalker with this mission in Dathomir," said James kneeling over the board and moving the Jedi Luke piece. Manny shuffled his bottom around to turn his back to James and the board. His face was bright red and he clamped his eyes shut.

"Oppose with Darth Vader," said Jake, bluntly. "Roll the dice."

They both rolled. James' attempt fell short by one fist symbol.

"What?!" said James. "You're so bloody lucky all the time. It's not fair."

"Shut up, James," whined Manny under his breath. James sat back down with his bum cheeks to his heels and silently fumed with his arms folded.

"General Tagge moves all forces from Dathomir into Dantooine," said Jake. "Rebels, is this your base?"

"Yes," mumbled James unhappily.

"Who's the general opposing General Tagge?" asked Jake.

"Nobody," said James.

"Why's that?" asked Jake.

"We used our last hero in a different system already." James grumbled.

"Okay, no tactic cards for you, then," shrugged Jake. "Let me roll my dice first. Hmm. That's a big score you've got to beat, plus my one of my cards says I can deduct some points from yours. Let's see what you get."

James rolled the dice. "Crap," he said. "Do you want to land your ground troops on Dantooine?"

"Nah," said Jake. "No need. I'll just blow it up with my Death Star. Game over."

Manny was still hunched over with his back to everyone. James knelt with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.

"You alright, my big Manny?" said Jake, sprawling on his side along the floor to squeeze Manny's knee. Manny shuffled on his bottom closer to Jake. Jake sat up and Manny leaned into him, letting Jake wrap his arm around him.

"I'm not crying!" Manny sniffled.

"It's okay, Manny," soothed Jake. "It's just a little game, remember. We had fun right up until the end, didn't we?"

"Yeah…" he grunted pathetically.

"James, do you have something to say to Manny?"

"Sorry I upset you, Manny," said James, looking down at the game board from between his fingers.

"Come over here, you daft bat," said Jake. James shuffled alongside him and he wrapped him in his other arm. "Look at the board and think about the moves you both wanted to make. Who was right?"

"Neither of us," said James, glumly. "We lost."

"You could think about it that way," said Jake. "But I had you cornered and there was only one move left. I pretty much already had it won."

"So James should've just let me make the move I wanted," pouted Manny.

"Well, if you think about it a different way, both of your moves were correct," said Jake. "You needed to make both of them to survive. So, you needed two turns, and a lot of luck. Unfortunately, you only had one turn, and no luck."

The boys looked at the game board in silence.

"Come on, kiss and make up," said Jake. The boys said nothing; they didn't move. "Right, well you'll be regretting that eventually while you're both toiling in the dungeon for the rest of the day. Here we go." Jake stood up with his arms wrapped around the two boys' chests.

"No!" they squealed, laughing and trying to squirm away. "Aaargh!"

"Silence, worms," said Jake, dragging two fighting and giggling young boys along on their knees.

***

Manny had to rouse Archie from his bed when he went to get him for his afternoon appointment. With neither he nor James having taken responsibility, it seemed nobody had bothered to bring the boy lunch. Manny left Archie to his own devices and went to get something for him to eat in the office while they talked. He left a plate of chopped fruit behind on the desk and went back to fetch Archie again. He was somewhat surprised to see the boy dressed and ready to go, and even more surprised to see him obediently bring a potty full of urine out with him and ask whether he might be allowed to flush it away. James may have found the morning difficult, but it seemed to Manny that whatever he had done had worked.

Archie sat opposite Manny in his office, crunching away at carrots chopped into batons, and pieces of apple and pear. Manny tried to ground himself in the situation; to find some steady base upon which to approach the lad sat boyishly gnawing at lunch across from him. Everything about Archie seemed to be built on shifting sands, and Manny wasn't convinced he could be as sure-footed as James in negotiating the terrain. If James' spirit animal wasn't a cat, then it was surely a goat.

"Can we talk about what happened yesterday, Arch?"

"Not sure I can remember," Archie responded, nibbling into more carrot.

"It wasn't that long ago," pressed Manny. "Only one sleep since then."

"Two sleeps," corrected Archie. "And I woke up a few times in the night cos I was having bad dreams, so it's probably even more than two."

"I still think you can probably remember what you did yesterday," insisted Manny. "Just try."

"It was yesterday," said Archie. "I dunnaa how yous can expect me to remember everything I did then."

"How about I tell you what I did yesterday?" suggested Manny.

"Go on then."

"Well, I woke up in the morning in bed with my partner, then I drank some water and got my little boy up. Then I got him and me both washed while my partner slept some more. Then I went to the castle for breakfast and saw James."

"You and James are, like, besties, aren't you?"

"Yeah," smiled Manny. "We are. We're brothers, really. We grew up together."

"That's cool," said Archie, through a mouthful of apple.

"What about you, Archie? Who's your bestie?"

"Ain't got one," he responded.

"There must be someone?"

"Hmm… not really."

"What about your mom, or your sister?"

"Me mam don't count. Me sister's only a bairn, but aye, I'm close with her, like."

"But no other kids from the city?"

"Nah. A lot of them aren't nice. Tell me more about what you did yesterday."

Manny got the uncomfortable feeling that Archie had managed to reverse the roles on him. Still, he continued.

"I had some work to do. Someone had reported some sheep had been mauled on Whinney Hill, and they reckoned it was wolves coming across the river. I don't think it was, though."

"I live on Whinney Hill," said Archie, absentmindedly.

"Do you?" said Manny. "I didn't know that. Maybe I saw you yesterday morning then."

"Probs not," said Archie. "I never saw you."

"So what were you up to while you weren't seeing me, then?"

"I went out to play by meself," said Archie. "I got some chalk and was drawing pictures on that big wall with all the spikes on top, on The Hallgarth."

"The prison wall?"

"Aye, me mam said they used to put all the bad men in the place behind that wall, back in the olden days."

"What did you do after you'd drawn pictures, Arch?"

"I went back home and me mam yelled at me for having chalk on me hands and top, so I had to wash me hands and put a clean top on. Then she said since I was such a mess all the time, I should make meself useful and take Bella down to the river and get us both bathed properly, like."

"Did you do that?" asked Manny, stealing a remaining slice of pear from Archie's plate and popping it in his mouth. Archie smirked at him and pulled a silly face as Manny ate the pear.

"Yeah, I went down Whinney Hill and through that field with the weird metal thingies, to those steps into the water by that little house thing. We can stand a few steps into the water there and not drown ourselves or nowt. They have one of those boxes with the soap and that in it right on the steps. I think they must know we use it all the time."

"You gave you and your sister a bath in the river," confirmed Manny.

"Yeah," said Archie, nodding.

"What happened next?"

"I took us back and me mam called me a good boy and said I could go out to play around the city if I wanted to, just dinnit be out too long, like."

"Did you go out to play, Arch?"

"Aye. I took me boat that my granddad made for me mam when she was a bairn, and I went down to the river by where that bridge has fallen over."

"A toy boat?"

"Obviously a toy boat," said Archie, rolling his eyes. "How could I lug a real boat around?"

Manny had to laugh. "You got me there, Archie. How did you get down to that part of the river, then?"

"I went from mine down The Hallgarth, then Hallgarth Street, then across the big high bridge and down the never-ending steps. There must be a thousand steps there, like. I never seen owt as steep as that. I get out of breath even going down them!"

"I can see that bridge from my bedroom," said Manny. "It is really high up. And the riverbank is really steep there. So, you went down the long steps and then walked along to the bend?"

"That's it," said Archie. "I was playing with me boat in the water."

"Did you get in?"

"No, me mam won't let us. Says I'll drown meself, like."

"So, you were on the bank with the boat on the water's edge?"

"Aye," nodded Archie.

"Is that where you met Angelika?" asked Manny.

"I don't remember that part," said Archie, after a pause, suddenly quieter and stiffer.

"You don't remember, or you don't want to talk about it?"

"Both," said Archie.

"It can't really be both, Arch," said Manny, shaking his head.

"Well… it is. Alright? It just is."

"Don't get in a huff with me Archie. Please?"

"It's your own stupid fault," pouted Archie. "Asking me stupid damn questions, like."

"Okay, Archie, you don't want to talk with me about that part of yesterday," sighed Manny, holding up his hands. "Fine. One other question, though, little man: where's your boat now?"

Archie's eyes suddenly widened. "Awww, no man! It must have got lost when that bloke grabbed me! Do you think it floated away, Manny? I've gotta find it! Me mam'll be livid, like. That's, like, the most special thing to all the three of us!"

Manny watched the sincerity in Archie's eyes. They began to well up a little. He wanted to find the toy boat. Manny wanted it too. It could be evidence, and even if not, Archie would then owe him one for finding it.

"Alright, Arch," said Manny. "How about this: I'll go out looking for your boat. It must be near where you left it, right? I'll leave you locked safe and sound in here and you can draw pictures at my desk if you want."

"Really?" squeaked Archie, looking at Manny with surprise in his wide, grey eyes. "You'll do that for us?"

"Yeah," smiled Manny. "Course I will. It's important to keep hold of the things that remind us who we are, right?"

"Aye," smiled Archie. "Yeah, that's right. You're clever, Manny."

"Can you keep a secret?" Manny responded, grinning widely.

"What?"

"You're not the first person to tell me that."

Archie smirked and shook his head as Manny headed for the door, still grinning to himself. Archie shuffled into place on his vacated chair and made himself at home with the pens and paper. Manny went for the door handle and noticed a piece of paper had been pushed under the door. He reached down and opened it.

"He did fucking what?!" he growled to himself, crumpling the paper in his fist.

***

James ate dinner by himself. He'd deliberately come late, trying to keep a low profile. There was no sign of Manny, Tracey, or Theo. He was utterly ignored, and that was as much as he could have hoped for. That is, until he went to return his tray to the kitchen, and Kenzie approached from behind and grabbed him by the arm.

"James," she said. "I heard what happened today. Come for a drink?"

James wanted to go to bed and curl into a ball. Possibly read; possibly just cry. That's not what he said. What he told her was yes.

The Shakespeare had barely changed in a couple of centuries. The walls were largely bare and painted a stark white; the furniture was largely wooden, and heavily worn. The oil lamps didn't look out of place. The whole pub smelt musty without need for the woodsmoke of a fire in the hearth to warm the room at the height of summer. It was empty. Only Dan Turner was there, dutifully manning the bar with his latest loan from the old university library in hand.

"Evening, Dan," said Kenzie. "What's in tonight?"

"Evening, both; everything reet?" he said, looking meaningfully at James.

"All fine, thanks, Dan," said James. "Yourself?"

"Canny," he said.

"What's in?" repeated Kenzie.

"Got Turner's summer cider – Gilesgate apple or Claypath pear – and some of that fire water that old man Hetherington brews in his bath. Potato or milk, I think. Plus all the old time stuff on the shelf, but y'knaa that's only for special occasions, like."

"I'll have a cider, please," said James. "Either one."

"Pint?"

James nodded. In short order, he had a pint of Turner's Claypath pear cider in hand, served in a glass reading, in slightly battered print, 32^nd Durham Beer Festival – 2012.

"What about the chief?" said Dan.

"Large milk vodka, please."

"If you're sure," said Dan. "I don't think it's sent anyone blind yet, but it's on Hetherington's head if it does."

James sipped at his cider as Kenzie received her milk vodka. It was clear as crystal, like pure water. James had expected it to be thick and white.

"You can go through the back," said Dan. "I'll make sure no bugger disturbs you if anyone comes in, like. Not that I think another soul will."

"Cheers, Dan," said Kenzie. James nodded and went to follow her through the archway leading into the secluded rear of the pub.

"Oh, James…" said Dan, calling him back, "listen… about this Archie Stephens business – dinnit let it worry your heed, like. Most folk will back you whatever decision you come to. We all knaa you're just doing as you've been told, like. I mean, I wanted to fucking kill the little bastard meself when I found him, but y'knaa, you step out of the moment and you think about it and you calm yoursen down. He's still just a bairn when it comes down to it."

"Thanks," said James, feeling butterflies in his stomach and allowing himself a smile. "That really means a lot."

"No bother at all, man."

"What was he like, when you found him?"

"Archie?" said Dan, stroking his chin. "Now you ask me about it, I dunnaa, like. It was all a bit mad with the emotion and all that; not sure I could really say owt. He had this boat toy with him, though. I remember that. It was broke and he were trying to fix it, like."

"Thanks, Dan."

"Aye, you'd better go and have your talk with the boss lady before she gets impatient," Dan winked.

James walked through the archway and found Kenzie waiting for him, sat at a large table.

"Dan's a good lad," she said, as James sat down. "He told me what happened today between you and Adam Wojnowski."

James' heart sank. "Oh. I'm sorry…"

"What for?" said Kenzie. "You didn't kill his daughter."

James blinked. He took a gulp of cider reflexively, watching Kenzie sip at her hypnotically clear spirit.

"Well?" she said.

"I thought I overstepped the mark with Archie this morning."

Kenzie took a deep breath. "It's natural," she shrugged. "You're trying to get into this kid's head. That's what we want you to do. You're good with kids; so what? Everyone knows that. Adam was just lashing out because he's in shock and needs people to blame."

"You don't think it was my fault?"

"I don't think people getting abused in the street for their sexuality is ever their fault," said Kenzie. "Trust me. I've had experience."

"What?" said James, blinking again.

"I also found out what that Rob bloke was up to earlier, as well."

"Who told you?" coughed James, choking on his cider.

"The man himself," said Kenzie. "I had him coming whining to me that Manny had given him a right going over about it all."

"What did you do?"

"I told him to fuck off," she laughed.

James snorted burning streams of cider down his nostrils and broke into another coughing fit.

"I said to him, if Manny told you to keep your big, ugly nose out of an investigation that doesn't concern you, you damn well keep your big, ugly nose out," said Kenzie. "And I also told him that if he has a problem with gays, he needs to find another place to live, because I sure as hell won't have him sponging of us if he carries on spouting that sort of crap."

James saw the fire dancing in Kenzie's eyes in the dingy light of the back of the pub. Perhaps it was just the reflection of the oil lamp in her irises, but they seemed aflame.

"I never realised you were gay," he said.

"You never asked," shrugged Kenzie. "And why should you?"

"Fair point."

"So, what I wanted to tell you," said Kenzie, reaching her hands across the table to hold the hand that wasn't attached to James' beer glass, "is that I don't have any problems about the way you're approaching things with Archie, and I'm totally satisfied that you're the right man for the job."

James was blinking again. This time it was good tears.

"Oh, don't get all emotional on me, you know I don't do well with that."

"Just, thanks," said James. "Thank you."

"Ah, well," Kenzie said, "you can't have thought you were the only gay around here."

"Someone once told me that about one in ten people aren't straight," said James. "But I guess fifteen-ish people isn't a lot when you're one of them, a load of the rest are kids or lezzers, and some are bi and happily with women."

"That's what I am then? A lezzer?"

"Sorry," said James. "Is that offensive?"

"From a pipsqueak like you?" chuckled Kenzie. "No, of course not."

James smiled, and took a happy gulp of his drink. Kenzie followed suit.

"Was it that man you grew up with who told you that?" she asked.

"Yeah," nodded James quietly.

"Listen, I heard what else Rob said about that," said Kenzie. "If something did happen between you and that bloke, he didn't make you gay, you know. Having sex early doesn't change who you are."

"I know," mumbled James. "Just… I don't know. Everybody seems to have an opinion on my life at the moment, and yet I'm the only one who's actually living it."

"I'm sorry, James," said Kenzie. "I knew this would be a lot of pressure. You're doing really good work for the community, and I promise I'll back up whatever you decide on as much as I can."

"Alright," said James. He didn't think she sounded very definite.

"How old were you, by the way?" she said. "If you don't mind me asking."

"What?"

"Sorry. The last time, then. How old were you the last time you had sex with him?"

"Twenty-five," said James. "I was twenty-five."

"See," smiled Kenzie. "There you go. He didn't just have you because he liked boys. He liked you for you."

"I know that," sighed James. "I just wish everybody else did. Or at least that they'd shut up about it."

"People are stupid," grinned Kenzie.

"Should you be saying that?" smiled James.

"The Wojnowskis are having a funeral for Angelika, Thursday lunchtime," said Kenzie. "I want all the council to be there."

"Do I have to?" whined James. "They won't want me there. I don't want to cause any trouble. Why would I deliberately go somewhere where everybody hates me?"

"They don't hate you, James, they hate the world at the moment," replied Kenzie. She flicked her head up, sending her hair cascading around the line of her jaw like a row of falling dominoes. "Besides, that's an easy way to show them you care about their feelings, and that you're not trying to antagonise them with any decision you make about Archie; just being neutral."

"You're far too cunning for me," James sighed.

"You aren't trying to flirt with me now, are you James?" grinned Kenzie.

***

James did decide to read when he got back home. He searched through folders and binders until he found the right collection. Memories he'd written down when he was thirteen.

Spring, age 13. Birthday!

So, Jake took me to bed for my birthday treat as usual. I'd had a really fun day. He gave me and Manny some 'nerd games' he'd found when he went out scavenging without us. We let him go that time because we knew he'd be looking for an amazing present. And it was! Jake said we really have to use our imaginations to play these games and create our own story, and that they can go on for hours. I can't wait to play them. There were some Lord of the Rings ones, and some Star Wars ones, and a couple of others. When he handed them over, Manny asked why he'd got them when he told us Star Wars was rubbish when we watched them over Winter Solstice. He said he got them because he knew we both liked them, me especially. And he was right! Jake is the best sometimes. He knows exactly how to make us happy on special occasions.

Anyway, back to the birthday treat. I was in bed with Jake, and he was sucking on me and licking me, and making me feel really, really good! Then, after I came the first time, he rolled me over on top of him and just kissed and cuddled me and told me how special I was to him. It was really nice just to feel close to him like that. I like it being the three of us, but it's good sometimes to only be me and Jake, and to feel how much he loves me.

I asked if he'd put his fingers up my bum, and he did it. I asked him for two, then three. He looked at me weird and asked if I was sure, and I nodded and said really sure. So he pushed three in and oh, man, it hurt! But I kept my cool and went with it. Jake kept asking if I was alright, and I kept saying yeah I was. Eventually it just started to feel stretchy and really full, and he was teasing my boy button non-stop. I came again so hard, it was unbelievable! I think I actually saw stars. When I could see properly again, Jake was stroking my face and smiling at me, and telling me I was his big boy. I felt like it. I felt grown-up. I told Jake I'm a teenager so I'm grown-up now, and he just laughed.

I was scared to say it. I tried to ask him a couple of times, but I couldn't do it. I wanted to give myself to Jake so, so much. I wanted him to have me. For us to be one together. I know it sounds stupid, but it's true. I wanted him up my bum. There. I said it. But I couldn't say it then, so I asked to suck him to try to calm myself down. Jake just said yes and that he wanted me to be comfortable. I think he could tell I was scared about something. I'm so bloody obvious all the time. It must be my face. Grr. Eventually, when he was getting close, I pulled off him and just blurted it out. Jakecanwetrydoingitupthebumagain! He told me to slow down and say it again. I did. Jake, can we try doing it up the bum again?

He said I'm not sure it's a good idea; I don't want to hurt you. I said I was grown-up and wanted to try it properly. He said let's start by lubing you and stretching you and see how it goes. I let him probe my bum for ages and ages. It must have been about an hour. I was getting tired! I kept pining and kissing him and asking when we were going to do it. I really wanted it more than anything. Actually, no – I didn't want it – I wanted him. Eventually he saw I wasn't going to give up, so he looked in my eyes and I said to him, 'Jake, please can we do it now?'

He told me to get into the position curled on my side with my knee by my chest, like when it all went wrong on Solstice when I was 11, because he thinks that's the best position for the first time. He got up behind me and asked me if I was sure I really wanted it. I closed my eyes and I nodded and I grabbed his dick and pushed the head against my hole. He told me to push like I was pooing. I knew what to do. I'm grown-up, after all. It popped into me, and oh my word it seriously hurt at first, and I moaned like a big baby. Jake stroked me and kissed me and whispered how brave I was. He said it didn't matter if I wanted him to take it out. He said I'd still be his big, grown-up boy.

I said no. I needed it. I could tell how close he was to blowing inside me too. I said he should just wait a bit and go slow when I tell him. So he did. And I could tell he wasn't so horny anymore and wasn't about to squirt, and for me it started to feel hot, and stretchy, and full rather than just painful and burny. I told Jake to push in, and he went in a bit at a time at first, making me grunt and whine a bit. I couldn't help it. I couldn't stop it, really. Then, all of a sudden, the whole thing just slid into me. All of Jake's massive man willy. It was the weirdest, fullest, stretchiest, squelchiest feeling ever! All of it was inside me! And it was pressing so hard against my inside boy parts, and his balls were slapped right up against my outside boy parts, like they were lovers too! It felt so weird, pushed right into my guts. I can still feel it a bit now if I concentrate. And when I feel that, I feel like we're connected again. I guess Jake and I will always be connected. I hope so. I love him so much.

So Jake was inside me, and he was slowly going back and forth, and it was driving my inside boy parts crazy, which was driving my willy crazy and making my balls ache like they were going to fall off! I mean, they don't even work yet! How is that possible?! It was all so warm, and stretchy, and full, and I could smell my own bum! My bum was open that wide and slurping and slapping so much that I could actually smell it at the other end of my body! Weird. Then, without realising why, I started crying. But it was good crying. I couldn't stop it. Jake was worried and asking me if I was hurt – which, to be fair, I was, but in a good way – but I just kept repeating over and over that I loved him so, so much. I think he got that I was just emotional. I wonder if bum sex is always that emotional? I don't know. It was overwhelming. I've never felt emotions like that before. I don't even know the words. I don't remember much of the rest, and Jake wouldn't do it again because he said I might get sore and torn. He's right. I could do without that, really. Especially if he tries making me and Manny go for poos one after the other again when the water runs low.

So, yeah. I'm not a virgin anymore. I'm a grown-up. And it feels good and my bum still feels soft and squishy and tingles, but all in a good way. Not a sore, hurty way. Well, not much. Well, not much in a way I can't put up with for those amazing feelings again! Wow! Inside and out! My head is going a mile a minute!

The first thing I did when I woke up the morning after my birthday, before writing this, was kiss Jake all over his face. He told me I was a barmpot, and he was right. I was climbing all over him licking and kissing his face, like an animal. Then I decided to suck him off just how he likes it. I gagged and wretched when I realised I was tasting my own poo on his dick. But you know what? I kept at it, because I think he deserved it. And I'm a grown-up, and I can deal with nasty tastes and hurting if it means I'm close to the people I love. It made me a bit horny, in a weird way, too, like the first time I licked Manny's bum (not that I would want to lick Manny's poo at all). I went and brushed my teeth and tongue twice after. But it was still sexy.

The next thing I did was run into Manny's room and kiss him all over, too. I wanted him to be part of it. I wanted to feel close to him too, and be connected to him forever. He was surprised that I was jumping all over him naked, but it made him really excited, really quickly! We did some sexy stuff until my willy started to hurt from all the action it's been having, so I stopped and wrote this, while I still remembered everything I could.

I am the luckiest, happiest boy in the world right now. I love my family so, so much! I just feel so… I suppose the word is completed. Having sex with Jake – real sex – willy up the bum sex – was full of so many feelings I can't describe, but all of them so, so good. I want him to love me like that forever. I love him like that, and I think that'll be forever.

I don't understand why any boy would be interested in girls when you can do that with boys (and men), and we've all got the same bits so we know exactly how to do it right. I get that girls make Manny excited, but I make Manny excited too. Maybe if Manny starts having it up the bum, me, him and Jake will be boyfriends forever? That would be the best. Manny must be the sexiest boy in the world. I'd love to be that close to him too.

James pushed the papers away. There was a tear running down his cheek, and he wasn't quite sure why. He pushed it away; put out his light. The last thing he thought as he lay down to sleep was of Archie, alone in his tiny room, nobody to connect to him.

Chapter 3
Day Three

Records of Events of the City of Durham

Wednesday 7^th July 2055

Weather: sunshine and cloud, muggy, still, 36°C (the man is out of the weather house)

Investigations and assessments in the case of Archie Stephens (AS) continue. AS will be speaking with James Martin and Emmanuel Kwame Addo again today.

A funeral has been arranged for Angelika Wojnowski at midday on Thursday 8^th July 2055 on Whinney Hill. It will be attended by friends, family, and the City Council.

Reports of foxes active on the south bank of the river. Precautions have been taken with livestock.

City Recorder: Mr James Martin

***

Archie had been on his best behaviour all morning. He got out of bed without fuss, emptied his own potty, and volunteered to wash properly by himself. He was polite and pleasant at their private breakfast, although not overly chatty. James hoped that meant things boded well for the rest of the day, but he didn't want to set himself up for disappointment. It always seemed to be waiting just around the corner for him. Aaron was shy and sheepish when he dutifully arrived to clear the plates. He acknowledged Manny with a nod and quickly looked away when James nodded back, too. He didn't look at Archie. He clattered and banged the crockery as he awkwardly rushed to finish his task. Another outing, another gut punch, thought James to himself, sighing internally, his stomach feeling like he'd raced over a hump-back bridge.

Archie's good behaviour didn't seem to be extending to an open session. They went in circles, discussing learning with the other children, playing with the other children, helping Harmonie around the house, and all sorts of not particularly insightful ephemera. It was becoming exhausting. James was mid-sentence when Shelley hopped in through the window and made herself at home on his desk. Archie was instantly distracted. James had little choice either. The tortoiseshell nuzzled her head against his elbow for attention.

"Does she just come in and out when she wants?" asked Archie.

"She's the castle cat," said James. "She owns the place."

"Wish I owned a castle," said Archie.

James gave in and tickled Shelley under her ginger and brown chin with his spidery fingers. The cat began to purr.

"Do you like animals?" asked James.

"We keep pigs at ours," said Archie. "Me mam lets me bring the piglets into the house sometimes. They're proper fluffy, like."

"I grew up on a farm," said James. "We always had goats and chickens around, and other animals from time to time too."

"Can I have a go?" said Archie, staring at James fussing Shelley all around her face.

"Of course you can," said James. "Come on."

Archie got up from his seat and trotted, a little nervously, closer to the desk. He reached out a hand; a soft, little boy hand, James noticed, still baring the faint remnants of scratches. James could make out the downy blond hairs on Archie's tanned arm as he reached out to touch the cat.

"Make a crook with your finger," said James. "Hold it in front of her and let her have a sniff. Then she'll know you're friendly."

Archie did as he was told. Shelley investigated his knuckle as he held it out on offer and rubbed the bridge of her little pink nose against it.

"There we go," said James. "You're in now."

Archie slowly rubbed his knuckle back and forth against Shelley's cheek, on the white side of her face. The cat continued to purr.

"Just be gentle with her, that's a good boy. If you're too rough, she'll get scared or you might hurt her."

"I got it," smiled Archie, running his hand over Shelley's head and shoulders with a feathery touch. Shelley narrowed her eyes and parted her mouth slightly; purred louder.

"Now you're friends," said James. "Maybe she'll find a way to visit you in the night. She's clever like that."

"Did you have a cat when you were my age?" asked Archie, copying James' motion to scratch Shelley under her chin, the cat craning her neck up to grant him access and giving another narrow-eyed cat smile.

"Nah, not cats," said James. "I had a lion once, when I was a little bit older than you."

"A lion!" squeaked Archie. "Dinnit tell fibs, man! I don't believe you."

"It's true. One day, Manny and I went out with our dad on the river, and…"

"You and Manny don't have the same dad," corrected Archie. "Manny's dad was a black man. Look at him."

James sighed. "We have different biological – I mean, real – dads, but we were both brought up and looked after by the same man. Family isn't just who you share your genes with, you know."

"You and Manny had to share your jeans?" squinted Archie, looking ever more lost.

"No. Well, yeah, actually. We used to swap clothes all the time. But what I meant was, family isn't just who you share the same blood as. The man who cared for us, Jake, was our dad too – if you don't mind me calling him that – because he loved and cared for us and we loved him back."

"Oh," said Archie. "Okay. Tell me about the lion then. I still don't believe you."

"Jake took me and Manny out fishing on the river one day, and we saw a little lion cub in the bushes. Jake reckoned there must have been some lions living up here in a zoo or park or something, and they'd gone wild. Who knows, maybe someone was looking after them? Or maybe they just found a nice warm cave for the winter and hunted all the deer. I dunno."

Archie was watching with avid interest. He nodded his head along with James as he theorised about caves and deer. Archie evidently liked this story.

"Anyway, our dad said we could keep it as long as we took responsibility for it. He said it would probably die because it was so weak. We took her and cared for her, though. She was really sweet. She liked to pounce on our feet and play with our socks and that. And we house trained her. She was definitely the best pet I ever had."

"So you grew up with a big lion on your farm?" gasped Archie, eyes wide with excitement.

"No," said James.

"How come?" said Archie, furrowing his brow once again. "What happened?"

"Our dad was right," said James. "She died."

"Oh," said Archie, looking at his feet. "That's sad."

"Yeah," said James, reaching out to rub Archie on the elbow. "It's fine, though. It was a long time ago."

"S'pose," said Archie.

"I have it all written down somewhere if you want to know more; if you still don't believe me," said James. "I used to keep records of important things then, just like I do now."

"S'alright," said Archie. "I don't read very good. I believe you."

"Thousands wouldn't," winked James. Archie gave a shy little smile and flopped back into his chair.

***

Jake had a little flat-bottomed boat that he kept upturned on the riverbank, the long pole that pushed it along hidden underneath. It took them around an hour to walk from the farm down to the riverbank where the boat was kept, but the boys adored going down to take it out on the water whenever the weather was good, and Jake was in the mood. This time – a warm, lazy early-summer day when James was thirteen and Manny twelve – much like the others, they arrived at the river in high spirits, James carrying their bag of snacks and water on his back, Jake and Manny taking care of the fishing gear in the hope of landing a tasty treat from the honey-brown waters.

It was around midday. Jake poked them down to a shady stretch of river with the long pole, pushing the boat along against the riverbed. Manny was wearing a floppy bucket hat, in red white and green, which read 'Bulgaria' across the front. James was in a faded blue Reebok cap, in thick material that absorbed his sweat. Mousey tufts of hair poked out from the back and over his ears at the sides, where it had grown long over the prior few months. Both boys were in shorts and tee-shirts, lazing stretched out in the boat as Jake pushed them on their bucolic ride through the water. Upon reaching the outside of a shady kink, he flopped down to join his boys, resting the pole inside the boat. A dragonfly whizzed low overhead of them, chasing midges pooling in shafts of sunlight. The eaves were alive with birdsong.

"James, pass me an apple?" said Manny.

James reached into his bag, which he'd been using as a pillow, and chucked Manny a fruit. It was a pear.

"Close," said Manny. "It'll do."

The boat bobbed this way and that in the calmest region of the water. They lunched, sweated, chatted sparingly; enjoyed each other's quiet company. Jake began to set up the fishing line. James sat up and stretched; smiled at Manny. He turned his head to stretch and a subtle movement on the bank caught his eye. His brow furrowed.

"What's that?" he said.

"What?" said Manny.

"There's something on the bank. Look!"

"Probably just a cat or something, James," said Jake.

"I don't think so," said James, moving to lean over the side of the boat to take a closer look. "There, in the bushes! Something's moving."

The bushes were rustling. A couple of bees bumbled aimlessly away, having been disturbed. A slight breeze cooled Manny's face as he was distracted by a wasp, which took momentary half-interest in the remains of his pear before shooting off on its way again. Only James was watching the bank.

"What the…? Jake, is that a lion?"

"Don't be silly, James," said Jake, still concentrating on the line.

"I thought lions only lived in Africa, not Britain," said Manny.

"It's a lion; I swear!" said James. "Look!"

Manny finally looked where James was pointing. "Woah! Look at this, Jake!"

Jake turned his head from the fishing line to where the two wide-eyed, grinning boys were pointing. There, flopped pathetically on the riverbank watching them, was a little lion cub.

"I told you!" bounced James. "You didn't believe me, but it is a lion. See!"

"Oh my word," said Jake. "You're right, James. Some lions must have been at a zoo or safari park around here. I'm amazed they've survived."

"It doesn't look very happy," said Manny.

"It looks poorly," said James. "Can we keep it, Jake?"

"It was probably rejected by its parents," said Jake. "If they're struggling to scrape a living up here, they're not going to want lots of babies. Especially weak and sickly ones."

"So we have to save it!" said James.

"James, look at the poor little thing. It probably isn't going to survive. That's why its parents left it behind."

"You saved us when we didn't have anyone else," said Manny. "Why can't we take this lion, too? We might be able to make it better."

"Yeah, Jake," said James. "We have to look after it. It's only fair."

"We can't just take a lion cub," snorted Jake. "What if we're wrong and its parents come back for it? How will we feed it?"

"It's all alone and it's gonna die, Jake," pleaded James. "Look how sad and lonely it looks. We have to take it. Mrs Williams has milk."

"Please, Jake," Manny chipped in. "Think how cool it would be to have our own lion. Rawr! Nobody would be messing with us!"

The cub was flopped on its front on the bank, panting and eyeing them sadly.

"Okay, boys, here's the deal," said Jake. "If the cub is still alone by the time we're done fishing, we'll take it with us. But it's your responsibility. You have to look after it. You have to clean up after it. You have to milk Mrs Williams for it, if that's what you need to do. And you have to accept that it's probably going to die, okay?"

"Thanks, Jake," chirped James. "We'll look after it; you'll see."

"This is gonna be so cool!" said Manny. "What should we name him?"

***

The cub was golden-eyed and sandy-furred. It didn't struggle when James gathered it up and stepped with it onto the boat, cradling and stroking it and cooing like a proud mother.

"There we are, baby. Don't be scared. Isn't that better?"

"Can we give him some water?" said Manny.

"Good idea," said Jake. "Pour a little into the cap and let him lap it out."

The cub lapped thankfully and thirstily at the water, its tongue causing the liquid to spill and splash over Manny's hand as James continued to coo encouragement at the little lion.

"He's licking my fingers!" Manny giggled.

Jake was putting his catch into a plastic bag. It had been a successful afternoon; the reedy outer bank of the river, with its overhanging birch and bramble, had been a happy hunting ground. Two common carp and a chub. A chub and a cub. And two boys splashing happily in the water with their clothes off before they'd gathered up the stricken feline. The day had been idyllic, like inhabiting the sepia photographs of childhood holidays from decades before.

"Look how cute he is, Jake," grinned James, holding the cub up for Jake to see.

"Are you sure it's a he, James?" said Jake. "Look between its legs."

James turned the cub around. "Oh! Sorry, baby!" he said. "I thought you were a boy, but you're a pretty little girl, aren't you?"

James rubbed noses with the cub. "Ra-aaouw!" it said.

"What should we call her, then?" said Manny.

"What's a good lion name?" asked James.

"How about Nuala?" suggested Jake.

"Noo-lah?" said Manny. "Why?"

"I like it," said James. "I think you like it too, don't you, Nuala?"

"Ra-aaouw!" squeaked Nuala.

"Yeah, she does!" laughed Manny. He scratched her behind the ears. "Hello, Nuala. Welcome to our family!"

***

Summer, age 13. Trip to the river.

We got a lion cub!

It's not a joke! We really did get a lion cub! It was lost at the side of the river where we went fishing on the boat. Jake said we can keep her as long as Manny and me look after her ourselves. We called her Nuala, and she's the cutest girl in the world! She has golden eyes and tan fur with brown speckles, and she's really fluffy! She makes an adorable noise, too, like she's trying to roar but can only miaow. We're so excited to have her.

Jake said some lions must've got away from a zoo or a park, years ago, and be trying to survive out in the wild here. It's not their natural habitat, so it must be very difficult for them. We think that's why Nuala was abandoned. She was just slumped at the side of the river. She looked so sad and lonely! As soon as I took her in my arms she was happier again. Manny fed her some water, and we took it in turns to carry her back home.

Jake says she's likely to die, so we shouldn't get too attached to her. But how could we not? She's the cuddliest little baby girl there is! Plus he's making us do everything for her. That's obviously going to make us love her more! She loves to play with Manny's socks. He takes them off and dangles them in front of her until she pounces on them and rolls around trying to kill and eat them. She's so silly!

I had to milk Mrs Williams to get some milk to feed Nuala. Mrs Williams has two kids, but they're used to us and not scared at all, so she has plenty of milk to spare and there isn't a problem with me going and getting it from her. It felt really weird at first, especially because Mrs Williams seemed to really like it! It was a bit like wanking, actually… except Mrs Williams was squirting all the time, and I still (!) can't do that. I really, really hope that happens soon. Even Manny can do it now. It's getting embarrassing.

Tonight I'm going to take Nuala to my bed to sleep with me. Manny will have her tomorrow night. Jake says we shouldn't have her in our beds because she could pee or poo in them, but I think she'll be okay. She had a wee outside while we were feeding her, so she should be fine. We set up a litter box for her and we'll keep bringing her there whenever she starts to go, so she knows that's where she should be. I bet lions are easy to train because they're so clever.

***

James fell asleep with Nuala cuddled into his tummy, her fluffy coat tickling his bare skin. Despite the buzz he still had from having discovered their new pet, the day had exhausted him. He was dreaming before he even knew he was asleep. All of a sudden, halfway through a sequence of him kayaking completely naked through a dense, discoloured jungle with Manny, he was roused by a sudden heat and discomfort. Something was moving next to him. He woke up.

"Mmph!" he said, furrowing his brow against the disturbance, eyes still closed. Something felt wrong. He reached down under the bedcovers. His underpants were stuck to his body. He felt something furry, and then a hot, wet patch beneath it, soaked into the bedsheets in a little circular puddle around his stomach and hips. It was almost as if the lion cub had tried to frame him.

"Nuala!" James groaned.

"Ra-aaouw!" said Nuala, nuzzling against James' sleepy face and licking his nose.

James sighed and pulled the cub to his chest, cradling her as he swung his legs out of bed and stood up. He placed Nuala on his desk chair and stripped out of his sodden boxers, reaching for a towel hung sloppily over a corner of the desk to rub in between his legs and over the damp patches of his abdomen. He set about yanking off the bedsheet in the dark, taking far longer than it should have done, and probably making more noise than necessary too. He didn't care. He stung inside that Jake had been right about taking Nuala to bed, and he was determined to get on with it himself no matter what. He threw the wet sheet in a balled-up mess in the middle of the bedroom floor, folded the towel over the slightly moist patch left on the bare mattress, and scooped Nuala into his arms to shuffle back into bed with her.

"No going wee-wee in the bed anymore, got it?" he said, holding the cub by the chest so her face hung into his.

Nuala growled and batted her right paw against James' left cheek. "Ra-aaouw!" she purred, and licked his lips.

***

Summer, age 13. Nuala the lion cub!

Jake was right. Nuala wet my bed. Sigh. She went right on my pants and belly button, like she was trying to make it look like I'd done it! I told her she was a naughty girl, but she's too cute to stay angry with.

When Jake saw what had happened he helped me wash the sheets and towel and my pants, and to sponge the mattress clean again. He kissed me on the head and said I was a good dad. That made me feel a lot better.

Manny says he'll still take her tonight, but we should make sure she's done all her business before she gets into bed. I thought I'd done that last night, but obviously not. Oh well.

I milked Mrs Williams again. I think I'm getting good at it slowly. The kids seem really jealous when I'm taking milk away from their mother! They get their own back, though. They're much bigger than Nuala and she's scared of them.

***

Jake, James and Manny were sprawled out on the living room floor playing Lord of the Rings: Journeys in Middle Earth, when Nuala trotted over to the litter box by herself and started taking a dump.

"Good girl!" chirped James.

"Look at her go!" laughed Manny.

"I have to say, I'm very impressed with you two," said Jake. "You must be doing something very right."

"Thanks Jake," smiled Manny. James just grinned. Nuala hopped out of the litter box and trotted over to snuggle under Manny's armpit as he lay full length on his front on the floor, propped up by his elbows.

"Ra-aaouw!" she said.

"We'd better clear that out now she's finished," said Jake.

"I'll do it," sighed James.

"Let me help you," said Jake. "I think you've both earned the right to have me help take care of her."

"Thanks," smiled James. "Love you."

"Love you both too," said Jake.

"You the man, big daddy!" laughed Manny, scratching Nuala behind a round, fluffy ear.

Jake watched as James picked up the litter box, holding it away from himself at arms-length.

"It's a bit of a funny colour, isn't it?" Jake said.

"You're disgusting, Jake," said James. "Really disgusting."

***

Autumn, age 13. Nuala the lion cub.

Nuala died.

She'd been ill for a few days. She was hot and sneezing and her poo had gone all runny.

She didn't want to eat anymore.

Nuala died in my arms.

Me, Jake and Manny buried her under the chicken coop. She used to love chasing them around. Jake told us off for letting her get in there. Now he helped us make sure she's there for ever.

Sorry for all the splashes on the page. I couldn't help it.

***

James met Manny again for lunch. They arrived just as Tracey and Theo were leaving, which resulted in some happy greetings, kisses, and cuddles. Theo was grinning like a madman as he turned to wave his Daddy and Uncle James off, before skipping away out into the castle courtyard. Mammy was taking him to see the goats.

Lunch was another simple, soupy broth. Manny finished first and headed off; he had things to do before speaking to Archie later that afternoon. He told James he'd catch up with him when they swapped over between sessions. James was in less of a rush. There was no point in him hurrying and then finding that Archie was still eating his lunch in his room.

It was when James was sat alone, at the top corner of his table, that Aaron came nervously lolloping over. James greeted him warmly.

"Hi, Aaron. You alright?"

"Hi, James," Aaron replied, hiding a nervous frown by immediately finding something interesting on the table to look at.

"Everything okay?" said James.

"Yeah," replied Aaron, still looking at James' empty bowl and fingering the edge of the table.

"You sure?"

"Erm… Ryan said he saw you going to talk to Immy yesterday," said Aaron. "Is it because… is it cos of what I said?"

"I don't understand, Az."

"Was you asking Immy to send me back to learning with her cos of me… cos I told on yous playing with Archie?"

"No!" replied James, gently touching Aaron on the elbow and trying to get the boy to look at him. "Why would I do that?"

"I thought you was upset cos it was my fault that people was angry with you and acting all horrid, like. I'm sorry. I like you being my teacher and I don't want to go back with the younger kids."

"Aaron…" began James, with a sigh. "Aaron, look at me. I'm not angry or upset with you. You're twelve years old. It's not your fault about anything that happens between adults in this city, you understand?"

"Aye, but…"

"No, Aaron. If people want to find an excuse to be nasty with me, that's their fault. Not yours. I bet you just mentioned what you saw when you got back to the kitchens because you were surprised. Is that it?"

"Aye. I didn't mean owt by it. Promise."

"Come here, Aaron," said James, pulling the boy to his side with an arm around his waist. "I'm not upset with you, okay? You didn't do anything wrong. I went to see Immy yesterday because there was stuff I needed to ask her about the work I'm doing, that's all."

"So you're still gonna teach us?"

"I hope so. If you want me to?"

"Course I do!"

"Well there you go then. No problem!"

"Thanks, James," said Aaron, smiling down at his teacher.

"I didn't do anything," James grinned back. "Say hi to Ryan for me."

Aaron grinned. "I will. Erm… James?"

"Yeah?"

"Ryan likes you, y'knaa."

James chuckled. "He's a good lad. I think I'm a bit old for him right now though. Maybe he should stick to liking boys his own age for a while."

"Aye," Aaron smirked. "Actually… can you keep a secret?"

"Depends if you want to tell me," grinned James.

"It's… Nah, actually it's nothing. Forget I said owt."

"Forget what?" said James. Aaron gave him a fist bump and was off on his way.

***

Archie had just finished his lunch when James arrived to collect him and was in a talkative mood. James led him to the toilet, and Archie bounced along all the way.

"I liked the lunch today," bounced Archie, skipping ahead up the stairs between his floor and James' office. "Was much better to have hot food than just fruit yesterday."

"Well, good job for you that you have me and Manny watching your back," replied James.

"Yeah, I–" Archie began, turning his head to look at James climbing the stairs behind him. He never finished his thought. Not looking where he was going, he tripped and landed heavily on all fours on the hard, stone steps, banging both knees and shins.

"Owwouwww!" whined Archie, rolling onto his side against the wall, tearing up, and rubbing both legs down at once with his hands. He'd leapt from the boyishly exuberant to the boyishly pathetic.

James was reminded of himself at that age. He had a thing – as he imagined most kids probably did – for going out and running around like a lunatic whenever he'd been trapped inside for a few days by the weather. The one time, when he was nine, he'd run off by himself into the woods and fallen in a bog. Another time, when he was ten, he barely made it out of the front door. He was in such a rush to get outside that he ran for the open door ahead of Jake and tripped on the doorstep, going flying into the yard and skinning his knees and elbows as he landed on the stony ground. Jake had picked him up and sat him on his lap while he bawled. It's alright, Jamey. We'll get you cleaned up. You silly boy, eh? What d'you have to run around like a nutter for? Rushing around like a fart in a colander, that's your problem. James had gurgled out a saliva-choked giggle, his eyes still streaming, and instantly felt better, in spite of the stinging in both his knees and elbows. Jake gently sponged his cuts clean, and it was all forgotten before they'd even begun to scab over. Kids' bodies are built for regeneration.

James knelt down to offer a hand up to Archie. "You silly goose," he said. "Rushing around like a fart in a colander, that's your problem!"

Archie giggled and let James help him up. His knees glowed red.

"Alright?" asked James.

"You talk proper funny sometimes," replied Archie.

"You like it when grown-ups are silly, don't you Arch?"

Archie nodded as James led him up the remaining stairs by his hand.

"Maybe we can talk a bit more about that when we're inside and settled."

James gave Archie some time to compose himself in the office. He poured him another drink of cordial. Archie thanked him politely. James wondered if it was all becoming a little bit of a game.

"You're being very polite today, Arch."

Archie shrugged. "I'm just trying to be good. Dinnit want to cause yous any more trouble, like."

"Who do you mean?"

"You and Manny, like. You're both proper kind to me."

"You think so?"

"Aye."

James was rubbing the blunt end of a pen against his lips. He watched Archie take a sip of his drink and give him a satisfied smile.

"That nice?" asked James.

"Yeah," answered Archie. "Me mam don't make owt like this. She dunnaa the recipe."

"I think you just squash berries and add a bit of lemon juice," shrugged James. "Then you mix it with water when you want to drink it."

"I'll tell her that," nodded Archie. Then he stopped and seemed to be troubled by a passing thought. "I will see me mam again, won't I?"

"Of course you will," said James. He was surprised Harmonie hadn't been back to the castle every minute of the day to see him. "I bet she misses you all the time."

"Aye," sighed Archie. "I miss her too. And Bella."

"I'll make sure you see them soon," promised James. Archie smiled. His body relaxed again. "Until then," added James, "you'll just have to be silly with me instead."

"I never knew blokes was allowed to be silly," said Archie.

"How come?"

"All the men I've seen are serious all the time."

"You must have seen grown-up men being silly sometimes," said James.

Archie thought for a while. "Aye," he said. "But that's normally cos they're just drunk, then after they get all lairy, like."

"Being silly doesn't make me get lairy," said James, pulling a silly face and holding his hands up.

Archie laughed. "Nah, I dinnit think you ever get lairy," he said. "You're not like… like a tough guy."

"Really?" chuckled James.

"Not in a bad way, like…" Archie defended.

"Not offended," said James, shaking his head. "What about Manny? Is he a tough guy?"

"More than you," giggled Archie. "But I like Manny. He's nice. He can be silly too, I bet."

"So, you don't like tough guys then?"

"Not really."

"Is that because you hate bullies, Archie? Are tough guys always bullies?"

"Dunnaa."

James felt like he was hitting treacle again. He pedalled harder.

"I spoke to Immy yesterday afternoon," he said. "She was one of the people teaching you to read and write and add up, and things like that, wasn't she?"

"Aye," confirmed Archie. "What's she said about us?"

"Nothing bad," lied James. "Just that sometimes you'd have trouble with the other boys around your age. Is that true?"

"I never caused no trouble," said Archie.

"Were they bullies, Archie?"

"Aye," he said. "They was always nasty to me."

"How come?"

"They called me names and stuff. They never wanted to play with me."

"What sort of names, Arch? Is it okay to tell me?"

"S'pose…" he sighed. "Well… they'd call me stuff like tramp, and pikey boy, and say that I'm thick, and that I smell, and all that."

"None of that's very nice, is it?"

"No," said Archie. "And I can't help it if I only came here when I was nearly seven, can I? And that it's just me and me sister and me mam and we live on us own."

"Did they say things about that, Arch?"

"Yeah, they'd be asking where me dad was, and calling me mam lazy and a scrounger and all that."

"That's horrible, Archie," said James. And he meant it. Pity, anger, and frustration competed for supremacy over the inside of his torso. "Did you ever tell Immy, or one of the other adults?"

"I tried," said Archie, "but they never want to listen to me either. S'like I don't really count the same as the other kids. Cos everyone here is mates with everyone else's family, like. They think we're just… I dunnaa… like nothing. Nobodies, like."

"I don't think you're a nobody, Arch," said James.

"Thanks," said Archie. He smiled an unhappy smile, kicked his legs, and took another sip of cordial.

"Does your mom know that the others have been making you feel this way?"

"Aye. I think all the grown-ups are like that with her and all."

"I wish I'd known, Archie," said James. "Manny and I would've been your friends."

Archie seemed genuinely taken aback. He stared at James with tears in his eyes. "Really?" he said. "But wouldn't all the others be funny with you?"

"Who cares?" shrugged James. "I don't have a problem with who you, your mom, and your sister are, or where you come from. You want to know a secret?"

"What?" nodded Archie.

"Most of the grown-ups around here didn't come from Durham. I'm probably one of the adults born closest to the city, and I still get treated differently sometimes. They're all hypocrites – you know what that means, Archie?"

"Does it mean they're two-faced?"

"Sort of," said James. "It means they act like certain things are important, but then never live up to those things themselves."

"I get it," said Archie. "I met a lot of people like that in my life."

"Do you miss not having a dad around, Archie?"

"Not really."

"Is that because all the men from before, by the sea, were all tough guys?"

"Aye. Better off without those blokes."

"What kind of things did they do that were so bad, Arch?" asked James, looking Archie sincerely in the eyes. "Would you tell me? Help me understand?"

"They was just… bad people," sighed Archie. "We had to do whatever they said and they never let us do what we wanted."

"How do you mean?"

"Like, the women had to do all the cooking and stuff, and they'd drag them around for no reason and take them away to do stuff to them, like."

"Bad stuff?"

"Aye. Like, hurting them. And… y'knaa… s-e-x stuff."

"Did you ever see them doing that, Archie?"

Archie shook his head. "The blokes didn't want us bairns around when they was doing the grown-up stuff," he said. "But I saw them hitting and kicking the women sometimes. And sometimes putting their hands up their clothes and stuff. Or making the women do that to them."

"Your mom too?"

"Me mam especially."

"What about you kids?"

"They always wanted us to be quiet and not get in their way. They'd get proper raging if we was too loud or distracted them from what they was doing. Especially if they'd had a few too many, like."

"Did they hurt you too?"

Archie nodded. He lowered his head and played with his fingernails in his lap.

"Badly?"

"Mostly they'd just shout, or give us a clout if we was being too loud or annoying, like. Like, a clip round the ear. Sometimes they'd smack us bums…"

Archie trailed off. He was fidgeting in his chair. He reached to take another sip of his drink, but nearly spilled it. James noticed Archie's hand trembling.

"I wish I could've borrowed your lion," sighed Archie. "They would've been scared of that. Then they'd have left us alone."

"Archie, is there something else you need to tell me?" James asked, quietly and gently.

Archie nodded. He closed his eyes and slumped back into his chair.

"Do you want to come and sit with me while you tell me? Would that help?"

Archie nodded. He padded silently across the short space between them and plonked himself gently on James' lap. James drew Archie into a cuddle. The boy began to sob into James' collar.

"It was my fault!" he cried.

"What was, Archie?" soothed James, gently, holding the boy close and stroking his back. "What happened?"

"I was being a pest," he blubbered. "Darren wanted to do stuff with me mam, but she'd been playing with me and I didn't want her to go. He sat her on the couch and put his hand inside her shirt. I shouted at him and tried to pull his arm away, so he slapped me round me face and I fell on the floor. Then he had me over his knee and he was belting me hard…"

"Shh, Archie," whispered James, rocking and stroking the boy as he heaved great breaths between sobs. "None of that was your fault. You were just a little boy."

"That's not the end of it," squeaked Archie through his whimpers. "Me mam tried to stop him, so he went for her instead. I wasn't wearing no clothes or nowt cos I was just a bairn, so he got me mam over his knee like I was. He pulled all her clothes off in front of everyone there; all the other blokes, and the women, and the bairns; and he smacked her bum in my place, hard as he could. All cos I was too naughty!"

"No, Archie," whispered James, cradling Archie's limp body and rocking him up and down, back and forth. "You weren't to blame for any of that. You weren't the grown-up. The bad men were. Darren was the grown-up. He shouldn't have been doing anything that he did. How old was he? How old were you?"

"I was six…" sobbed Archie.

"See, there you go, then," said James. "You couldn't be to blame for any of that when you were six. You couldn't be to blame for anything wrong that grown-ups did."

"Maybe not that…" said Archie. "But me mam managed to get away from him, while he was spanking her, like. He went after her and had her trapped in the corner. He said he'd teach her a lesson in front of everyone, said she was a bitch and all nasty stuff like that. I went to try and stop him. I stood in between them. He kicked me as hard as he could, right out the way. Then while I was lying on the floor, he dragged me mam away to his bed, by her hair. She was screaming, James. She was screaming so loud!"

"Shh… it's better now, Arch. You're not with those bad men anymore. You didn't make any of that happen. There's nothing you or your mom could've done." James was rubbing his hand back and forth over Archie's ribs. He felt a bump in two of the lower bones, near the bottom left of his chest, and a shiver ran down his spine. He felt like someone had thrown ice water all over him.

"That's where he kicked me," whispered Archie, lying, cried out, against James' neck.

"You're such a brave boy, Archie," said James. "Such a brave boy for telling me all this."

"I knaa it made me cry, like," he sniffled. "But it made me feel better to tell you, now I done it."

"I'm glad, Archie."

"So, that's why we had to run away," said Archie. "Cos a few months later, me mam had got pregnant again, and she didn't want to stay there anymore and have another bairn getting hurt like I was. 'Cept I'm just as bad as them blokes now, aren't I? Cos I hurt someone too."

"How did you get away, Arch?"

"Me mam slipped us away in the middle of the night, in the pitch dark," he said. "We only took a few clothes and one toy. I took me boat that me granddad had made for me mam. I didn't want the other bairns getting hold of that. It's our special thing."

"Did they not come after you?"

"Aye," nodded Archie. "They nearly caught us, even."

"What happened?"

"They was right behind us, on the river, near where that big place is with the circle of grass and all the seats."

"The cricket ground in Chester-le-Street?"

"I dunnaa. But they almost got us. Then we heard two blokes coming in the other direction. They was almost on top of all of us; me, me mam, and Darren and the other blokes that was chasing us, like. The two blokes was just walking along the other side of the trees, laughing and joking. We could see Darren's face through the bushes behind us, like. Then one of the other blokes shouted something to Darren. Summat like, he's got fucking arrows, man! I dunnaa what that meant. So they just turned around and ran off, so me mam grabbed me and ran and we ended up carrying on down here."

James looked down at Archie with saucerplate eyes. Archie looked back, sniffling, eyes reddened and bloodshot, still full of tears. His eyelashes had some gunk in them.

"When was that, Archie? When did all this happen?"

"Dunnaa," shrugged Archie. "When I was six. In the summertime. Like it is now."

"This time four years ago?"

"Aye. S'pose so."

James' mind raced. An annual pilgrimage. Bow and quiver on his back. Manny by his side. Three unkempt, shady-looking men making off into the distance, by the Lumley Park Burn at Chester-le-Street.

They had already saved Archie once before.

***

James and Manny entered the cathedral together, taking the large, arched main door into the rear of the nave, opening out of the mighty north side onto the green. The air inside was warm and thick, smelling of old wood and dusty stone, pressing oppressively down on them from the heady heights of the peaked nave ceiling, many metres above. Light flooded in through the circular window of the Chapel of the Nine Altars, far beyond the transepts and choir to their left, and the arched stained glass between the Galilee Towers, high to their right, on the west wall that formed the bottom of the mighty cross shape of the building. The wooden pews were broken down in numerous places, stolen for firewood or building material, but the stone of the enormous, blocky cathedral towered above them still, effortlessly complete. It had stood for a thousand years before, and who was to say it would not stand for a thousand more? Manny couldn't help craning his neck to admire the ornate decoration of the stone ceiling, criss-crossed like an Easter bun.

"Lead us not into temptation," said James, "but deliver us from evil."

Manny chuckled. "I thought Jake brought you up strictly godless?"

"Even Jake knew the Lord's Prayer," said James. "Even if he did used to sing that song: Jesus is just a Spanish boy's name to me."

"Don't forget the other one," said Manny. "I am the resurrection and I am the life."

"He took me to a cathedral before," said James. "In Birmingham. It was the day we met you."

"Do you want to go and look at the tomb of St Cuthbert?" said Manny. James allowed him to change the subject. He knew not to pry too much into Manny's life before he lived with James and Jake.

"I bet he's not really in there," said James. "Or it's not really his bones."

"Probably not," said Manny. "Let's go into the cloisters."

Manny led the way across the nave of the cathedral, zigzagging between broken pews to work their way to the next arched doorway, from the south aisle into the covered quadrangle of the cloisters. A square stone corridor stood covered by a rooftop, looking out onto the central green through stone archways.

"Remember when Jake found us that Harry Potter DVD?" said James. "That was here. The corridor bits."

"I know," said Manny. "You've been thinking about him a lot lately, haven't you?"

"I can't help it," said James. "With Archie… I just wonder what he would have made of it all; what he would have said and done. It's like I trust him more than I trust myself on it, even though I know that's ridiculous, and he's gone…"

"I've been doing the same," said Manny. "It's natural, isn't it? He raised us both."

"The only father I ever knew."

"Me too, pretty much."

"I keep remembering things from the past; looking at old notes and thinking about things to do with Archie. At least, I think they're to do with Archie. It's like I'm trying to see parallels and patterns, but they might not ever really be there."

"Same," said Manny. "I know how you feel. It's hard to make sense of it all."

They leaned on the wall, arms crossed, and looked out onto the grass between the covered corridors; the corridors of Hogwarts School. A chaffinch landed and pecked at the soil, seeking out a worm, only to be chased away by an incoming carrion crow.

"I'm realising all the time how lucky we were," said James. "Like, properly appreciating it."

"What do you mean?"

"Some of the stuff that's happened to that boy and his mom; the things that he's seen men do… I mean, is it any wonder that his head's messed up enough for him to flip and kill a girl?"

"Suppose not," sighed Manny, looking at James seriously. "How bad is it?"

"It sounds like his mom was one of a few women kept by a gang of blokes. He doesn't know which one his dad was…"

"Fuck," said Manny. "Did they do things to him, too?"

"Nothing particularly sexual, at least not that he's mentioned," said James, shaking his head. "But it sounds like they weren't shy of slapping him about if he got on their nerves just for being a little boy. Or sometimes hurting him just for fun."

"Poor little lad. Explains a lot."

"At one point, he got brave and tried to stop his mom getting picked on by the one bloke. He got kicked in the chest so hard, I think… I think it broke his ribs. You can feel the ridge in the bones when you touch him, where they must've healed up."

"Fucking hell!" shrieked Manny, his eyes bugging. "How did we not know this before? How did I not notice when I was examining him?"

"Apparently, when his mom was pregnant again with his sister, they escaped and came here," said James. He looked Manny deep in the eye. "He said some of the men had caught up with them on the river, by the cricket ground. They heard two other men laughing and joking coming in the other direction, hidden behind the trees. They paused long enough for Harmonie to slip them both away again, and the men were worried about ending up in a fight so gave up and turned back."

"Wait…" said Manny. "At Chester-le-Street? When was this?"

James nodded. "Around this time, four years ago."

"But that means…" Manny shook his head like he was trying to rattle a lost thought loose. "It was us. They got away because of us."

"Yeah," said James. He turned and rested his backside against the inside wall of the cloister, turning his back to the grass quadrangle outside. Manny stood in place, looking dumbstruck.

"That's unreal, man," he said.

"Manny," said James, "remember those boys at the park, when you'd just turned twelve?"

"Oh yeah," replied Manny. "I do, actually."

"That was their life, wasn't it? The same as those women like Harmonie."

"I don't want to think about it, Jay. It breaks my heart."

***

It was the first year they'd returned to the winter house. It was the depths of winter, and they'd celebrated Manny's twelfth birthday the week before, the boy beaming with pride as Jake handed over a pair of toy rifles that fired little foam balls, which he'd found while out scavenging for supplies. Manny and James spent the rest of the day running around the house firing balls at each other and squealing. It eventually evolved into 'strip gunfight', where the boys had to take off an item of clothing every time they got hit. Outside, a blizzard raged, the street hidden by a whiteout. They fell asleep on the sofa early that evening, and Jake left them there, covered over with quilts stolen from the two spare beds.

A week later, on a cold, clear day, when the sky hung yellow with idle snowclouds, the boys wrapped up warm and went out to play over the back field, while Jake tried to deal with the frozen-over rain catcher. They climbed the wire fence and pushed out onto the vanilla-glazed parkland with the intention of building a snowman. They worked together to try and build up the first big ball for the lower body, having to raise their voices to beat the muffle of the scarves over their faces and the hoods over their woolly-hatted heads. James was bending over, squatted forward on his toes to push a growing ball of snow together with the coating on the ground. Neither of them saw it coming. A snowball smashed into James' neatly presented backside at velocity, making him yelp and start forward, catching himself on his gloved hands in the snow, while Manny quickly caught him by his shoulders. James groaned as he felt the frigid liquid soak through the back of his undies.

Manny hauled James up and swung around to take a few steps towards a boy standing a few metres away from them. He looked about their age.

"What do you want?" barked Manny.

"Chill, I was just messing," smirked the boy. He began to walk towards them. Manny took a few more steps forward, putting himself between James and the boy. He was big-boned; broad, round-faced, and stocky – but not particularly chubby. He didn't seem dressed for the cold of December. He had a coat and gloves on, but his face was exposed. Brown eyes. Floppy dark blond hair. His cheeks were flushed, and his eyes looked tired; dark circles underneath his lower lids.

"You weren't messing; you were being a dick," said Manny. "We don't know you and you threw a snowball at us."

"Alright; I'm Jude," he said. "Now you know me. What's your names?"

"I'm Manny; this is James. You should apologise to him for what you just did."

"Whatever. I'm sorry, James. Is that better?"

"No," said Manny.

"Leave it, Manny," said James. "It's okay."

"See?" said Jude. Manny scowled at him.

Two more boys, smaller than Jude, had gathered behind him.

"This is Mike," said Jude, pointing a thumb at the boy to his left, who looked perhaps nine. He also looked cold, as well as miserable. He had short brown hair, with a hint of curl to it, and Husky-like ice blue eyes. A brace of freckles sat over the bridge of his nose. His skin was pale, face flushed against the cold, bright red lips leaking vapour with every breath.

Jude turned to the other boy. "The little 'un is Harry," he said. Harry looked even less like he wanted to be there than Mike. He was visibly shivering and looked utterly lost and miserable. His floppy dark brown hair hung at jaunty boyish angles over his face, as well as sticking up in the air in random places. He had the stick skinniness of a little boy, his coat sleeves hanging far over his hands. He probably didn't have any gloves. He looked down, obscuring his eyes from James and Manny. James smiled at the boy, while pulling awkwardly at his wet bum with one hand, trying to prevent his now freezing-wet boxers and joggers from sticking to his skin. Harry was the one he felt most sorry for. James guessed he was maybe eight.

"We've never seen you around here before," observed Jude.

James was about to respond that it was probably because they weren't always there, but Manny cut across him.

"We've never seen you around here before," Manny countered. "So what do you want?"

"Just saw you and wondered if you want to play," shrugged Jude.

"You all look really cold, especially Harry," said James. "Are you sure you want to play out?"

"Course," said Jude. "Ignore Harry. He's only a baby."

James wanted to take Jude to task, but Manny took control again.

"We're building a snowman," he said. "You can help if you really want, but it'll be no good if he hasn't got gloves." He nodded towards Harry, who was watching the patterns he made as he rotated his feet in the snow.

"He can just watch," said Jude. "Harry doesn't mind."

Mike sneezed.

"Our dad will be out any minute now," said Manny. "Maybe we can ask him to bring some gloves for Harry from the house?"

Jude's eyes widened. "Oh, you live near here?"

Manny nodded. Jude seemed to be thinking on his feet.

"Oh, okay. Maybe you can show us later."

Mike looked uncomfortable. Harry hummed to himself quietly through his shivers as he watched his feet form a hollowed-out semicircle in the snow.

"You've found some more playmates!" called a man, approaching from the same direction the three boys had appeared from. James thought he was trying to sound friendly, but it rang false. It came across as sinister.

Mike turned and glanced at the man, before casting his gaze to the ground in front of him. Harry continued humming and watching his feet. Jude eyeballed James and Manny uncertainly. From the patterns of the vapour of his breath, it almost seemed that he was panting. James moved as close to Manny as he could, pressing the front of his left shoulder into Manny's right. It was a subtle way of telling him he wanted them to go home, and he hoped Manny was on the same wavelength.

The man marched towards them. "Are they on their own too, like us? Have you asked them if they want to come and have some lunch at ours?"

Manny reached for James' hand. Jude kept eyeballing them. He looked like he was leaning in closer.

"Lovely hot food!" bellowed the man. "Nice and tasty. Fill you up. You won't regret it!"

Jude leaned right in between James and Manny's faces. This close, they could see him in all his fine detail. They were wrong to assume he was tired. The marks under his eyes were the faded, yellowy remains of bruises. There was a line down the side of his nose where a scratch had almost healed. A little cut to the corner of his mouth, like something had forced it open, was still just about visible.

"Run!" he hissed. "Run!"

Manny bolted first, still holding James' hand. He let go and they were sprinting side by side, the three sad boys stood watching them, like snow children frozen on the heath.

"Oi!" shouted the man, darting to try to head them off. "Oi! Get back here! Little shits!"

Manny made it to the fence between the field and the lane first. He scrambled over it, hardly caring if he landed awkwardly in the frosted-over nettles. James went second. The man was almost on top of them. James hoisted a leg over, but his trailing foot caught in the mesh. He cried out. Manny hauled him with all his might, grazing James' shin hard over the concrete fence post as he was dragged over, away from the man's grasping hands near his feet. They fell in a heap on the nettles, supported by Manny's back.

As they got up, they stole a wide-eyed glance each at the man, snarling, baring yellowed teeth, as he tried to vault the fence after them. They raced through the shed and into their garden.

"Jake! Jake!"

Jake was done on the roof. He had been in the kitchen, so could easily fly through the back door to meet his panicked boys on the frozen lawn, between dormant rows of vegetable plants.

"What's the matter? What's happened?"

"There's a man!" cried Manny. "He's after us!"

"He had boys!" shouted James. "He tried to get us to go with them!"

"We wouldn't, so he chased after us!" Manny squealed. The boys were beside themselves. James didn't know exactly why, but he burst into tears, feeling the stinging pain in his left shin and the icy damp of the seat of his pants twice as strongly. That, and the look on Jude's face as he told them to run, and Mike and Harry's strange behaviour. He sat down on the floor and heaved. Manny joined him. He'd started crying too.

"Right!" bellowed Jake. "Right!"

He sprinted to the shed and rattled a metal drawer open so fast a drift of snow tumbled from the roof of the large wood and uPVC structure.

"What are you doing?" wailed Manny. He scrambled to his feet and chased after Jake. James followed.

Jake had his granddad's air rifle. He burst into the lane in a fit of rage. The berserker cometh; fear ye his wrath.

"Where are you?" he screamed, at the top of his lungs. "Where are you?"

There was no sign of a disturbance in the lane. He hurdled the fence almost unthinkingly. Manny and James raced up behind and watched from behind it, their fingers gripping the wire along the rim. They were too frightened to step further away from the house.

Jake spotted the figure of a man making off towards the far side of the field with three boys. He roared and fired a shot into the air, the sound rattling off the walls of the houses all around the park.

In the distance, one of the smaller boys – probably Harry – hit the ground in fright. The man mercilessly hauled him up by his wrist and broke into a quick jog. The boys had to keep pace alongside him as they disappeared through the old side car park, between the bushes, and out into the jungle of the deserted suburbs.

Jake lowered the gun and stood a while at the edge of the field, his mind racing to nowhere. Eventually, he turned for home and saw James and Manny, still wrapped up heavily against the cold, watching him from the lane side of the fence. He moved towards them and hopped over.

"Come on," he said, drawing the two shell-shocked boys into his arms. "Let's go home."

Jake dropped his granddad's rifle back in the drawer and locked the back door of the shed. James and Manny clung to him. He realised the three of them were sobbing.

"The bad man isn't coming back," he said, through his tears. "Let's go inside and get you both in a nice bath to warm up."

***

With Archie busy with Manny, James headed to see Harmonie. He wasn't sure whether he was looking for answers, offering sympathies, or just fighting Archie's corner. Whatever it was, that's what he did.

He took the back alley through the rear of the buildings on the east side of Palace Green, and he entered Hatfield to cut the corner around to the high bridge. He was passing the back corner of the college when he ran into familiar fun again.

"Uncle James!"

"Theo!"

Theo launched himself for pick-up hugs at James again. "We saw the goats!"

"Really?" said James. "I saw them yesterday. Did you say hello to Cybi?"

"Cybi was yours and daddy's goat, wasn't he?"

"That's right."

"He's old."

"Thanks," chuckled James.

"Hi, James," said Tracey, a pair of scissors in one hand and a little sprig of something in the other. "We were going to come and find you. Would you like to come and have dinner with us tonight? Just the four of us?"

"That'd be great," smiled James. "How come?"

"Just fancied it," shrugged Tracey. "The kitchen had some leftover lentils and tomatoes that were going off, so they were offering them round earlier. I took them. Thought we could have a little family meal."

"Nice!" said James.

"Pop over when you've finished work," said Tracey. "We'll make an evening of it."

"I'm gonna help mammy cook all the food," squeaked Theo, bouncing in James' arms.

"You're a good boy, aren't you Theo?" said James.

"Yeah!" he giggled proudly.

"Right, little man," said Tracey. "Are you going to let your Uncle James get back to what he was doing?"

"Can't we play a little bit?"

"You'll see him later!" said Tracey.

"Just… two or one minutes!" protested Theo.

"Sorry, big boy," said James, lowering Theo back to the ground. "I've got work to do, so I can't play until later."

"Will you play farms with me then?" whined Theo. "I got all the animal toys and the house."

"If you've got the bricks, we could build some more farm buildings," nodded James. "Promise."

"Alright," sighed Theo. He evidently hadn't mastered delayed satisfaction quite yet.

"I'll see you both later," said James, getting back on his way.

"See you later, James," called Tracey, watching James haul the side door of the college open. "Theo, say bye-bye to Uncle James."

"Bye, Uncle James! Remember to play with me later!"

James hummed to himself happily as he made his way to the Stephens' house – surely, he thought, retracing the steps Archie had taken to the river on Monday, only in reverse. He didn't feel apprehensive anymore, but he still wasn't entirely sure what he would say. Hopefully the moment would come to him. He strolled down Hallgarth Street, past the old Victoria pub, still intact in its Victorian grandeur, but sadly unloved. Dan came by to strip out more of the old bottles of spirits whenever his top shelf ran dry. He turned left up The Hallgarth; a strangely narrow, winding lane that ran between the backs of houses and the walls of the old prison. Gone were the days of being able to conveniently lock away undesirables in there without a second thought.

Something on the wall caught James' eye, and he paused to investigate. Coming closer, he saw that there was a colourful child's drawing on the wall, in chalk. It was slightly smudged by Monday night's drizzle, but there had been no major downpour to wash it away completely. There was a yellow-haired boy holding a bow and arrow, fighting with a huge, dark, red-eyed monster under a big, fiery sun. James looked a few metres up the lane to where it joined Whinney Hill, a clearly lived-in house overlooking them. This was Archie's drawing. This was Archie's world.

Making a mental note to compliment Archie on his artwork next time he saw him, James took the few steps further up the hill to arrive at Harmonie, Archie, and Bella's house. The front door was open a crack. James knocked politely.

There was no answer. He could hear the sound of a little girl talking to herself inside, and the muffled sound of pigs somewhere behind the houses. James stood back and looked up at the house, looking for a sign of where Harmonie might be. The name of the street, Whinney Hill, was displayed on a plate on the front of the house, bolted in above the little portico sheltering the front door.

James knocked again. The only answer was Bella's little voice, huffing, "Come in, stupid!" He did as he was told.

As James stepped through the door, he realised it was open because it no longer worked. Someone had smashed the catch from its moorings, and the upper corner of the wood was dented and misshapen. He walked a little further inside. He avoided the stairs right in front of him and popped his head through the door to the front room instead. Bella was sat on the floor, completely naked, playing with a mismatched gaggle of dolls and teddies.

"Mammy, castle man came!" she shouted.

James tried his best to be polite, given he'd just been invited into the house by a naked three or four-year-old. "Hi, Bella," he said. "My name's James. What are you playing?"

Bella ignored him and whispered to the nearest teddy instead.

There was the sound of someone rushing down the stairs. James turned around just as Harmonie emerged behind him.

"What do you want now?" she sighed.

"Sorry to barge in," said James. "Your door's broken and Bella sort of told me to come in."

Harmonie craned her neck past James to her daughter in the front room. "Bella! Where's your clothes?" she snapped. Bella ignored her. "There's no talking to that lass at the minute," fumed Harmonie. "She's beside herself without her brother."

"I know a good carpenter who could fix your door," suggested James. "And she'd bring along a little playmate for Bella."

"Who'd want to come up here and help me at the minute?" demanded Harmonie, hands on hips. James noticed how tired and – frankly – ill she looked. Eyes heavily lidded and bloodshot, hair stuck to her head, skin pale and clammy.

"You're not alone, you know, Harmonie," said James.

"Am I heck," scoffed Harmonie. "Y'knaa who did this to me door? That deputy bloke, Rob. No need for it. Just cos nobody told me yous had me bairn. Anyone who wants to walk in and do anything to us – and believe me, there's quite a few round here who do at the minute – they've got a free run of us home."

"I'll see if my friend can come down tomorrow," said James.

"Aye, whatever," grunted Harmonie. "So, what you come here for?"

"Archie misses you," said James, matter-of-factly.

Harmonie shuddered from head to toe. "And what do you care about that?" she rasped.

"I think you miss him, too. And Bella obviously does."

"How d'you expect me to go over there, to the castle, eh? We'd be hounded. We're not wanted."

"Archie wants you," insisted James. "He's taken to me and Manny, but you can see how frightened he is most of the time, especially around other adults. He's been having bad dreams… He needs his mom."

Harmonie staggered in the hallway. She held out a hand to catch herself on the knob of the bannister as she stumbled backwards. She sobbed, her spare hand covering her mouth. She collapsed against the side of the stairs.

"It's all my fault," she sobbed. "That's what they all think. And they're right. I made me little boy into a killer!"

James rushed to lift Harmonie back to her feet and hold her awkwardly in his arms. "Hey," he said. "None of this is your fault. You've done what was best for your kids, bringing them here."

"No," she said. "No. I should never have left it so long. I should never have let Archie spend half his life where we were before."

"Shh, Harmonie," said James. "Archie told me about all that. That wasn't your fault any more than it was his. What those men were doing to the pair of you, and all the other women and children, was abuse. Plain and simple. I think you were so brave to get away when you did. So, so brave."

"Aye," she coughed. "Never helped Archie, though, did it? In the end? We come here and nobody wants to give us the time of day, like. They shove us in this little house, and call me a slapper, and a gyppo, and all sorts, and Archie a freak. None of them let their kids play with him."

"I wish I'd known, Harmonie," said James. "I really wish I had. Archie's just a normal little boy, outside of everything that's happened this week. I would've done something."

"Well it's too bliddy late now, ain't it? He's gone and proved 'em all right, the stupid little sod."

"Come on, Harmonie," pleaded James. "We still don't know exactly what happened on Monday. All we know is that Archie hurt a girl and she got killed. We don't know how one led to the other."

"Those fucking Wojnowskis," spat Harmonie. "We had 'em down here, Sunday night, trying to say it was Archie who was mauling all those sheep."

"What?"

"Aye, can you believe it? They was saying my lad was some sort of werewolf or something. All of them, they think we're monsters, just cos of what we've come from."

"You're not, though. Archie's not."

"Seeing men behave that when he was just a tiny bairn, it's no surprise it got into his head."

"No, no… Harmonie – he hated the men who acted out. He was telling me how much he liked Tyrone, the man who was nice to him. He thinks that must be his dad."

"If that boy knew who his dad really was, it'd break his little heart."

"Will you go and see him?" said James. "Please?"

No answer from Harmonie. She just stood there shaking.

"He needs you," said James. "And I think you need him."

"Get out of my house," hacked Harmonie, shaking her head and flinging tears all around the hallway.

James turned to leave. Harmonie was still shaking, propping herself up with one arm against the doorframe of the front room.

"I'll ask if my friend can come and fix your door tomorrow," said James. "Look after yourself, Harmonie. Please."

"Thanks," Harmonie managed to cough out, in a strangled, stilted whisper.

"You know where to find me," added James, making off for the castle and safer ground.

***

James arrived rather early at Manny and Tracey's place, on the first floor of Staircase A of Hatfield College. Tracey was cooking dinner over the fireplace in the room they used as their living room – the back left as James looked at it from the staircase – overlooking the back corner of the college where he'd met Tracey and Theo a couple of hours earlier. James had brought a bottle from Jake's old stash, and he set it to one side in the room where Tracey was cooking. Back when Jake had the car, he'd raided distribution centres for what treats remained. They were overloaded for booze and chocolate for years to come. The alcohol, of course, would be fine forever. Whiskey and rum don't go off. The chocolate would probably be borderline inedible by now, but Theo surely wouldn't mind. He'd be bouncing off the walls come bedtime.

Theo, of course, held James to his promise to build more of his farm in his playroom, the other of the four rooms on their floor. James was sprawled across the floor with him, building a Lego barn, when Manny arrived back from the castle.

"Daddy, are you gonna play farm with us?"

"I think I should probably help mommy with the cooking. What do you think?"

"Oh no! I was gonna help mammy make all the food for us!"

Everybody ended up back in front of the fireplace, where Tracey insisted she needed no help, and that it was too hot for everyone in there with the fire going anyway. She was right. She was at the stage where she could leave the food alone to cook, and the adults could head downstairs with an aperitif of Jake's carefully selected dark rum to watch Theo dance around amongst the plants. Eventually, Tracey headed back inside to grate and cook some cauliflower, leaving James and Manny alone while Theo rushed about amongst the greenery.

"Archie wouldn't give me anything new today," said Manny.

"I'm not surprised after what it must have taken for him to have opened up to me," sighed James, taking a sip of rum. Mount Gay. An appropriate inheritance from Jake.

"In the end, he started crying and asking for you and his mom," said Manny, looking at James pointedly. "You've really got him to trust you. You should be proud."

"Thanks," blushed James. "I just tried to be myself and treat him like I would any other kid."

"I reckon that's exactly what he needed," said Manny, taking a sip from his glass.

"But he is just an ordinary boy," said James. "No matter what he's been through, or whatever he may have done…"

"You don't think he might not have done it, do you, Jay?"

"Don't you?" James replied quickly, widening his eyes at Manny. "We know he hurt Angelika; he's admitted that and it's obvious. We don't know exactly how she died."

"But it's clear he was involved," countered Manny. "Either way, it's just a matter of how much responsibility he had. You can't give him the benefit of the doubt when we've got an eight-year-old girl about to be buried tomorrow and he admits he had a hand in battering her."

"Maybe not," sighed James. "But I know there's more going on here. There must be. Something about it doesn't add up. I saw Harmonie Stephens this afternoon and she was saying the Wojnowskis were trying to make out that Archie was some sort of sheep-killing animal before any of the rest of it even happened."

"I wondered why she turned up again this evening," said Manny.

"Did she go to see him?" squeaked James.

"Yeah," said Manny. "Her and the little sister. He was over the moon. They're still with him now. They're going to have dinner with him, and his mom will put him to bed."

"Excellent," said James. "I'm so happy."

"James, if he's killed her…"

"What?"

"You can't undo it, you know. You can't save him any more than you can save her."

"No," said James. "And he will be punished. No matter what. None of us can avoid that."

"But…?"

"But, if we can show he's just a mixed-up boy who's been through hell, who snapped because of the pressure he was put under… Well, we can argue that he can be prepared for a normal, happy life in the future."

"James, you know I'm with you every step of the way, right?" said Manny, staring at James under a crooked head and raised eyebrows.

"Right," said James. "But…?"

"But I wonder how realistic you're being here. Just because you like Archie, doesn't make him an ordinary kid, and doesn't mean that he really didn't mean to kill Angelika. And even if you're right, what do you think everyone else is going to make of it? Half the town have already made their minds up."

"So, we just give up on him?" said James. "Is that what you're saying?"

"No, that's not what I mean," replied Manny. "I just… I don't want to see you get hurt, mate. You're putting your heart and soul into this, and it probably isn't going to go the way you want it to. And, ultimately, Archie isn't our problem. It's not on us what happens to him."

James sighed and watched Theo singing to himself and playing amongst the flowers. He nodded at him. "So," he said bitterly, "you'd be saying the same if it was him sat crying in that little room, the right to even go to the toilet in privacy removed from him, accused of murder?"

"That's not fair," Manny shot back. "You know it's not."

"What difference does it make?" countered James. "Archie is all of our responsibility, regardless of if he's our flesh and blood or not."

Theo trotted over and planted himself in James' lap. "What are you and daddy talking about?" he asked.

"Just work," said James, kissing the top of Theo's head. "Nothing for baby boys to worry about."

"I'm not a baby," said Theo, absentmindedly. "I'm five."

Manny watched James speechlessly. They caught each other's eyes. The look in Manny's eyes told James that he had him; that Manny knew he was right. The moment was broken as Tracey emerged from the door.

"Dinner's ready," she said. "All boys upstairs, now. Hands washed and ready to go."

***

Dinner passed without any fuss. Work was off the agenda. The adults joked and reminisced; Theo was his usual funny, entertaining self. Tracey's lentil dish, prepared with onions and garden peas and the herbs she and Theo could get their hands on, served in tomato-based sauce over grated and sautéed cauliflower, was excellent. James and Manny had almost forgotten how special small-scale cooking could be. Even Tracey seemed to have surprised herself.

"Uncle James, did you guess our secret ingredient?" chirped Theo.

"Oh no!" James dramatically exclaimed. "What did Theo put in here? I feel like I'm gonna throw up already!"

"No, silly!" laughed Theo. "I asked mammy to put a special herb in there."

"Go on, Theo," said Manny. "You'll have to tell us what it was."

"Remember yesterday you showed me the cat plant, Uncle James? Well, mammy and me crushed up some cat-nit to put in the dinner!"

"Really?" said James. Theo nodded happily. "Oh… I'm starting to feel a bit funny…."

"Uncle James!" squeaked Theo, eyes wide.

"Oh no!" wailed James. "My head's spinning. I'm going to start acting all crazy!"

"Mammy!" squealed Theo. "You said it was okay to put the cat leaves in there! Uncle James isn't a cat and Henry ate it too!"

"Ohhhh!" wailed James, leaning as if he was about to fall off his chair.

"Stop it, Uncle James!" bounced Theo, visibly getting worked up. "I didn't mean to make you poorly! Please, Uncle James!"

James flopped to the floor. Theo whimpered and reached for Tracey's hand.

With a sudden leap, James was knelt beside Theo, tickling his sides savagely from alongside his chair.

"No! Uncle James! You're mean!" he shrieked, between belly laughs, hiccups and giggles. "You made me think I'd made you poorly!"

Eventually James relented and retook his seat. Theo huffed in his chair.

"I know what'd cheer you up, silly boy," said Manny. "Let me bring in what Uncle James has brought over for us."

"I can't drink yucky booze," whined Theo to Tracey, collapsing against her side.

"He's starting to get tired," she explained to James, stroking his hair.

"Am not!" he snapped back, as Manny re-entered the room, holding the bottle of Mount Gay and a slab wrapped in purple foil. "Is that chocolate?" gasped Theo, instantly bolting back to an upright position.

"It is," said Tracey. "But not too much for you, eh?"

"Thank you, mammy! Thank you, daddy! Thank you, Uncle James!" Theo was on his knees, bouncing up and down on his chair as if his life depended on it.

Manny broke up the bar and passed pieces around. Theo covered himself in brown smudges as the adults drank more golden liquid, shared around by James pouring into their empty glasses. Theo soon fell asleep, collapsed into his mother's lap. Manny took him away to wipe his face and hands, remove his clothes, and pop the groggy, protesting boy into his bed. His teeth would survive one night without attention. James and Tracey were left in an animated conversation about Ian McEwan. Tracey had been reading him lately, on James' recommendation, from books purloined from the old university library, its four floors standing big, blocky and dormant, like a giant, abandoned concrete bookcase.

Manny returned and more drinks were poured. Tracey headed off to the toilet. Manny grabbed James' thigh under the table, to grab his attention; to look him in the eye with fuzzy-headed sincerity.

"You're right," he said. "We don't know everything. You've got to do things your way."

"What if I'm wrong?" said James. "Everyone will hate me."

"What if you're right?" countered Manny. "You have to get him to tell the truth, James. You're the only one who can."

Tracey returned. They drained their drinks and said extended goodnights. Repeated hugs. Laughing. Promises of days and nights to come. James realised he'd forgot to ask Tracey about Harmonie's door. He mentioned it as he left. Tracey said she'd definitely look into it and that Theo needs to meet more children.

It was done. James wandered home, happy at heart and a head full of fizz in the twilight. It was late, but the reluctant sun refused to fully pull below the horizon enough to darken the entire sky, especially as James walked facing west to return to the castle and his waiting bed. He stumbled over himself; his repeated mantras of the day returned to him. Not your fault; abuse plain and simple. If six-year-old Archie had no say in his abuse, and twelve-year-old Aaron had no say in the behaviour of adults – hell, if adult Harmonie had no say in what happened to her, and those three poor boys from the park back in Birmingham no say in what happened to them – did thirteen-year-old James and Manny really have control over what they did or didn't want, either? Did eleven-year-old Manny ending up naked in bed with another boy and a grown man really have an opt-out? Did he, at nine, really have the freedom to ask Jake to let him rub his naked parts against him again, despite enjoying it once, given Jake – aged forty or god-knows-what – had introduced him to practices and sensations his childish mind would never have dreamed of?

Nothing made sense anymore. Archie had shattered everything. The more James pulled on that thread, the more everything unravelled. He needed to sleep. He just about managed to pull his clothes off and collapse into his bed, thinking of himself and Manny. Thinking of their first time. Thinking of how the triangle became complete.

***

Winter, age 13. Manny's birthday!

It's Manny's thirteenth birthday today… and you know what that means!

Manny says he wants to do it. He's been acting weird all day though. I think he must be nervous or excited. Or both. I'm going to listen outside the door while they do it. Maybe have a nice tug… Imagine if they catch me! I hope they'd drag me in and punish me. I want to be as close to Manny as I am to Jake. I want us to be three boyfriends, all connected. I want Manny up my bum too, to feel that closeness and connection to him. But I'm too scared to ask him.

***

"It's time for your present, birthday boy," said Jake, sat on the winter bed, watching Manny stood before him in the yellowish electric light. "Is it what you want?"

Manny blushed. "Yes," he said, quietly, looking away from Jake.

"Get undressed for me, then."

Manny smirked a little to himself and began to pull off his jumper. He could feel the heat in his cheeks, prickly, tingling down the back of his neck. Off came his jeans. Socks. He was stood before Jake in just his boxers. With a deep breath and a single, bowing movement, off they came. A sting of excitement tickled through his balls and his willy, but it stayed mostly soft. Perhaps just sticking up the slightest amount. His heart pounded.

Jake drank in the newly minted teenager. He was starting to develop rapidly; leaving James behind. Dark pubes were beginning to come in around the top of his cock and balls, which had enlarged and descended. He'd been spunking for around a year already. The rest of his body was windscreen smooth, his muscles steadily becoming more defined through his caramel skin, goosed as he stood bare on display in the bedroom.

"You're such a beautiful boy, Manny."

He gave a timid smile. His willy swelled just a little more.

"You're nervous, aren't you?"

He nodded.

"Don't be," said Jake, standing to run a hand gently over Manny's naked shoulders, sending a shiver down the boy's spine. "We're going to have a lot of fun tonight. Here, help undress me."

Jake sat back down. Manny shuffled in between the man's legs, his penis now at half-mast and bobbing with the pounding of his heart. He unbuttoned Jake's shirt and pushed it off his arms, skin-on-skin, fingertips to biceps. Jake's ferociously hairy barrel chest was revealed. Manny had seen it so many times, but it always impressed him. Imposed upon him. He knelt down to pull Jake's socks off. It felt very odd, undressing an adult. He realised he'd put himself into a perfect blowjob position, knelt right between Jake's open legs. Maybe that's what Jake wanted first. Chest still aflutter, he unbuttoned the man's fly. Jake lifted up to let Manny slide his jeans down pale, mildly hairy legs. All that was left was the underpants.

"Get on the bed," said Jake. "I'll do this bit."

Manny clambered up. He lay staring at the ceiling, his willy now stiffer than ever before, pointing up at his chest. Jake was naked. He'd come to lie alongside Manny, side-on, crooking a knee onto Manny's thigh, and stroking down Manny's chest. Manny swallowed noisily; he was breathing hard.

"You're getting to be such a big boy," said Jake, slithering a hand down to massage Manny's steel-rigid member and tightly drawn balls. At a wild guess, he'd say the boy was getting on for five inches; perhaps not quite. Not fully thick yet, but with a fat head. "When it gets bigger than mine, I'll let you put it inside me to celebrate."

Manny choked another heavy breath; felt his cock jerk and dribble a little bit. He blushed, but turned to look Jake in the eye, re-finding his toothy grin.

"How does that sound?" said Jake.

Manny swallowed again. "Yeah," was the only word he could find, in a parched whisper.

"Someone's very excited," Jake said, using the spilt fluid to slide his thumb around under Manny's foreskin. Manny gasped, whimpered a little, and nodded his head as if it might explode. He felt like his entire body could, at any second.

"Time to get to work," smiled Jake, leaning over to kiss Manny on the mouth. He wasted no time in probing his tongue beyond the boy's lips. Manny accepted and responded limply with his own tongue. Jake broke the kiss.

"You don't much like snogging me, do you mate?"

Manny wasn't sure what to say. He gulped, feeling Jake's hand still teasing his dick. Eventually he shook his head.

"That's okay," Jake whispered. "How about I kiss you somewhere else instead?"

Jake nuzzled his nose against Manny's; kissed him on the cheek. He descended a trail of sloppy kisses, feeling Manny's heart working overtime as he passed over the boy's chest. It wasn't long before he was between Manny's legs, inhaling the scent of overexcited teen boy, all wrinkled skin and salty sweetness. He lapped at the boy's balls. Took them in his mouth and rolled them around his tongue; still just little enough to get away with having both at once. He pulled Manny's freshly-teen prong straight, retracted the skin fully, and descended; the length just enough to tickle his throat. He sucked and lapped at Manny's fat knob, tasting the honey the boy was dropping occasional pearls of, on top of the smorgasbord of subtle flavours of a wet bell end, trapped beneath its protective sheath all the day long and released only sparingly to share its aromas with a lucky tongue.

Sensing Manny was close, Jake pulled off and began leaving wet, precum-stringy kisses over Manny's pubis and belly. Manny panted hard. As Jake's tongue flicked just beneath his belly button, Manny's entire body clenched. He grunted and moaned aloud. His fingers dug at the bedsheets; knuckles yellow. Volleys of hot teen semen splattered Manny's triangle and Jake's chin.

"I'm sorry," whimpered Manny, slick with sweat from his temples to the soles of his feet; a little river running between his bum cheeks.

"Delicious!" smiled Jake, scooping dollops of Manny's cum from his chin to his mouth. "Try some."

Manny opened his mouth and allowed Jake to feed him his own semen from his splattered nether regions. It wasn't quite pearlescent yet, but nor was it clear. Cloudy.

"Not to worry," said Jake, gently patting and stroking Manny's balls. "Plenty more where that came from. Let's get you ready for the main event."

Manny remembered his nerves, but nodded and lifted and spread his legs, like a baby awaiting a nappy change.

"All the way back," said Jake, taking Manny's hand and placing it on the pit of his knee in encouragement. Many acquiesced, spreading himself for Jake. Jake dove straight in.

Manny relaxed into the deep rimjob, everything above his arsehole a confused jumble of excitement, nerves, fear, and euphoria. After a couple of minutes, his hole had relaxed enough to admit much of Jake's tongue. The man kept going. Manny felt his willy begin to chub again, tingles running through his balls whenever Jake's tongue danced up his perineum.

It didn't come as a surprise when a gloopy digit replaced Jake's tongue in his hole, but it did make Manny tense and gasp as nerves got the better of him again.

"Relax," said Jake. "You're okay. You'll get hurt if you keep tensing."

Manny gulped and gave a little, mmm-hmm. Once again, it was all he could manage.

Jake worked over the boy's hole with his index finger. He gently eased Manny onto his side, facing him in a 69 position. His free hand directed his penis to Manny's lips. "Get it nice and wet, there's a good lad."

Manny got to work sucking. He tried to focus on doing a good job and block out everything else. That became more difficult as he felt Jake's middle finger join his pointer as it wiggled around inside him.

"Keep going, Manny," said Jake. "You've got this."

Manny did as he was told, feeling Jake's fingers scissoring away inside his bottom. A fingernail flicked over his gland, and he gasped and nearly came on himself again.

"Touched a special place," said Jake. "Imagine how good something bigger will feel against that."

Manny gulped on Jake's cock, earning a twitch of the head against the back of his throat in return.

Jake kept going until he had three fingers working away in Manny's rear, consistently causing the boy to twitch and gasp. He'd taken Manny off blowjob duty and set him to work greasing up the appendage that was about to take his anal virginity. It made sense to ensure he got to know it properly first.

"I think we're ready to roll, okay Manny?" said Jake. Manny nodded seriously.

"What should I do?" he asked in a small voice.

"Roll onto your other side and pull one knee up to your chest. I'll spoon you from behind. I find that's probably the best way for a first time."

Manny did as he was told. He was sweating profusely again, his sloppy hole already throbbing from the probing Jake's fingers had given him. He took a deep breath as he felt Jake move into place behind him; felt his right bum cheek get pushed upwards and spread, and the blunt end of a slicked adult dick touch his most private spot. His heart skipped a beat. He shivered from head to toe. The goosebumps had returned.

"Time to put it in the Manny hole," said Jake. "Ready, lover boy?"

"Ready," gulped Manny.

"Alright," breathed Jake, pushing hard against Manny's entrance. The Manny hole.

A burning pain rippled through Manny's rear end as Jake forced him open.

"Owww!" he whined. "Owowow!"

"Okay, Manny," Jake said gently, easing more of his penis into the panting boy. "You're doing fine. This is always the hard bit. Just breathe and push, remember."

"Go slow, Jake!" whimpered Manny.

"That won't help," said Jake. "It's best just to slot it in and let you adjust."

"Okay…" whined Manny, panting. "Is it all in yet?"

"There we are," said Jake, bottoming his pubes out against Manny's still-spread cheek. "You've taken it all. Big, brave lad."

"When does it start feeling good?" Manny panted. A shiver ran through his body again as he felt Jake begin to coax life back into his limp willy. It caused him to clench his ring around the invading cock, sending another flicker of burning all through his anal passage.

"Just hold it. Breathe. Let yourself get used to it. Keep your leg up; I'll look after things down here."

Manny blinked and hugged his knee to his chest. He could feel how sweaty he was, his back frog-slimy against Jake's hairy chest. His hole didn't feel like it was throbbing so much. A dull fullness spread through his nerve endings. Jake had his willy back to semi, a goopy hand touching all his favourite places. Trying to keep his bum still as best he could, he relaxed his back into Jake's chest more, feeling the man's breath against the back of his head.

"Wank me harder, please?"

"Of course, brave boy. Let's see how big you are again."

Jake began to fondle Manny with more urgency. The teen was back up to his current maximum. Jake wondered how big it would end up. Six-and-a-half? Did Manny have a seven hidden inside him, waiting to grow out? Either way, he was enjoying himself. The attention to his boxer meat had his breathing rattling again. Jake subtly began to move his hips around.

"Oh, fuck…" whispered Manny.

"Yes, mate. That's what we're doing."

Manny chuckled and felt shivers dance across his body again. His cock twitched and dribbled a little on Jake's hand.

"I love you, Jake," he sighed.

"I love you too, Manny," said Jake. "How's your Manny hole?"

"Good," said Manny. "You can start thrusting if you want."

"Good lad," said Jake. Another flick of his hips. Slowly building up motion, cranking up the momentum. Manny lay still. "Ready to go hard?"

"Think so," said Manny, his anus twittering. "Oof!"

Jake began to thrust properly, his hard cock motoring in Manny's stretched-out boy-hole. Manny saw stars. There was more going on within the confines of his backside than he ever thought could be possible. Stretching. Tingles. Pain. Fullness. His prostate being hammered, squeezed and squashed in all directions. He'd given up holding his knee; Jake had it pinned to him, forcing the breath out of him with every stroke. Instead, he reached for his windmilling willy, wanking himself off with all the urgency his delirious body could muster.

"Ah!" he grunted. "Oh, oh, oh!"

"Ngh! Manny!" Jake cried as his balls began to slap against the boy's.

Manny was a wreck. His hole was full of Jake, making squishy, sloppy sounds sometimes, and other times slurpy fart noises. He realised he could smell his own inner scents, deep and peaty. He could smell his armpits, too. He was sweating like he was wearing furs in the desert at the height of summer. He made noises and fondled himself. It was all he could manage.

Jake roared. Hot stickiness seared through Manny's overworked hole. He felt an overwhelming desperation to shit and was worried that he was indeed pooing himself when he felt warm slop dribbling over Jake's dick all around his hole. When he realised it was Jake's spunk being forced out of him, Manny blew his second fuse of the evening, covering his front in goo to match his back, as Jake lay panting and cradling him. They were panting together. Manny nuzzled his head back against Jake's hairy face. Ran a hand over his own awestruck face, then let it flop to the bed. Laughed to himself.

"How was that?" said Jake.

"Can I kiss you again after all?" Manny replied.

***

Winter, age 13. Secret listeners.

I was right outside the door when Manny did it up the bum for the first time!

It sounded like it went well. There was some hurting at first, but there always is. It makes what comes after even better! After Manny was over that, it sounded like they had a really good time! I wanked myself off the whole time, and came when I heard Jake spunking, of course!

They think I'm tucked up in bed in the front room. But I'm not. Ha ha! After I'm done writing this, I'll go back and listen some more. I bet there'll be more. There always is. Isn't that what birthday fucks are for?

I'm looking forward to round two. Can't wait to hear Manny moaning and get myself off again. I'm so hard right now. I wish I was in there with them. I'd give myself to both of them at once just to be part of it together.

***

Manny let Jake cuddle him for a long time. He was content to stay still and try to process what he'd just experienced, while his bum tried to find the appropriate reaction to what had been inflicted upon it. For the moment, it seemed to have decided this was to twitch repeatedly and leak semen down his legs.

"Here," said Jake, holding a flask full of water out to Manny. "Have plenty to drink. Then we can go again if you like."

"Okay," said Manny, gulping down water and realising how thirsty he had been. "Will it be the same again?"

"We like to mix things up, don't we," Jake winked.

"Yeah," giggled Manny. "It won't hurt, though?"

"No different from before."

"Oh. Okay. Let me rest a bit longer then we can do it again."

"Good birthday present?"

Manny choked on his swig of water and began coughing. Jake slapped his back.

"Good present!" he said, between gulping coughs.

"You know, being thirteen means you can do that with James now, too."

"Do you think he'd let me?" Manny grinned.

"Let you?" laughed Jake. "You'll be fighting that boy off!"

Manny smirked and rolled onto his front. "Give me a massage and tickle my feet?" he wheedled. "Birthday present."

"Oh, go on," said Jake. "Get you limber ready for the second round."

***

Manny was a little confused by the position Jake got into once they'd decided to go again. He had him kneel up on the bed with his legs apart, then slotted in behind the boy's smaller frame.

"Sit back a little," said Jake.

"Oh," said Manny, catching on. Jake moved his hips up to meet Manny's descent. He was holding his dick out ready to spear Manny's hole on contact. "Oof! Argh – that's sore!"

"Always hurts going in, remember," said Jake. "Just sit back on it. You'll be fine."

"Ow! Jake, this feels worse!"

"It's a bit more of an advanced position," said Jake. "Just be brave. You'll manage."

"Nmph!" grunted Manny. Jake had beaten the resistance of Manny's sphincters and been sucked fully back into the boy's slick arse chute.

"Better?"

"Hmm," nodded Manny weakly.

"No holding back this time, okay?" Jake grabbed Manny firmly by his thighs, and without further ceremony began to piston the boy roughly from beneath and behind.

"Oh, Jesus!" moaned Manny. Jake's cock was aimed squarely at his sex gland, smashing the buzzer with every macho thrust.

"James!" shouted Jake. "James, come and join us, mate. I know you're out there."

Nothing happened for a few beats. Manny was unconcerned. He felt himself begin to ride Jake's cock as it thrust into him, desperate for the hammering on his prostate to continue. He was somewhere between feeling as if he was going to pee himself and feeling as if he was going to ejaculate his balls out of the end of his dick. He was drooling clear liquid from the parted end of his foreskin.

The bedroom door opened. James crept in sheepishly, naked, stiff willy in hand.

"How did you know I was out there?" he began to pout, before raising his head to the action on the bed and letting his mouth drop open in wonder. Manny was getting a real pounding in only his second-ever fuck.

"Because I know you!" said Jake, voice vibrating between thrusts. The sound of slapping flesh filled the room, occasionally broken by a grunt or moan from Manny, or the farty sounds of his well-lubricated bottom. "Get involved!"

James looked at Jake wide-eyed, before a wicked grin spread across his face, deforming into a full-blown evil laugh. He grabbed the jar of Vaseline from the bed, collected a big dollop on the end of his index finger, and rammed it straight into his bum, down to the final knuckle.

Manny was barely aware of what was happening when James grabbed his leaking dick in a fist and gave it a couple of test pumps. A nervous look played across James' face, but when Jake nodded at him, he smiled again and turned to face away from Manny. The next thing Manny knew, he had the most incredible soft, tight, warm feeling around his willy, like a hundred blowjobs at once. He whimper-moaned and let his head flop forwards, inhaling the scent of James' hair. He wrapped his arms around James in brotherly love, squeezing him about his chest. Instinct took over and he was thrusting his hips at James now, rather than in response to Jake's relentless assault.

Jake surprised the boys again by switching his tight grip to James' thighs, mashing the three of them together, forcing Manny balls-deep into James with every slam against the younger boy's prostate. Manny lost the ability to sense anything other than his anal cavity, his throbbing penis, and the scent of James' body, Vaseline and boy bum. He could hear himself crying out but wasn't aware his mouth was moving. He released into James his third cum of the evening, increasingly transparent boy juice. He was opened his eyes to realise he was looking over James' shoulder and could see the elder boy shuddering with pleasure, eyes closed, chest flushed, as a little droplet of clear fluid dribbled from his fully-skinned willy onto Jake's hand, three-and-a-half inches, balls descended and beginning to grow. Then Manny felt another eruption in his own backside. He caught himself wondering if the squelchiness would ever start to feel familiar.

James, panting, made the first move to gently slide himself free of Manny's now shrunken willy. "Thanks!" he chirped, smiling broadly. "Happy Birthday, Manny."

"Sit still, Manny, there's a good lad," said Jake, holding the swooning Manny firm, cock still up his rear end. "Clean your brother up."

"What?" said Manny, still barely comprehending what was going on. James had stood on the bed and bent double, spreading his sticky, violated anus in Manny's face.

"Lick it, Manny," said James. "You have to clean up after yourself."

Manny, confused and slick with sweat, Jake's semi ensconced in his bowels, blinked and complied. He tasted the watery remnants of his spunk, and the weird, brackish taste of Vaseline. He felt his cheeks getting sticky, too. James' musk was coating his nose. Manny's bum ached and throbbed. Then he felt another wave of stabbing that made him fall forward, headfirst into James' taint and testes. Jake was hard again. And the fucking had restarted.

"Come on, birthday boy," said Jake. "You don't get off that easy."

"Ugh," Manny grunted. His dick felt like it had been inside a cheese grater, but somehow was horrendously hard again. His head lolled and bobbed from Jake's fucking. He looked down and saw his willy, red and sore, slick and shiny, sporting a brown stain up near the rim. It was a teenager's willy. And it wasn't the willy of a virgin. Amongst all the other confused and mixed-up feelings and sensations sloshing around inside him, radiating from his pounded rear iris to the top of his brain, he felt a rush of pride. Manny was a man. He wasn't some silly little boy anymore.

"James, get back on my dick, man!" he croaked. "I need you."

James happily complied, almost throwing himself down bottom-first onto Manny.

"Steady, James," panted Jake, drilling Manny's rear with the same gusto as before. "Facing us this time."

"Kay, Jake," replied James, twisting to squat in front of Manny and lower himself onto his brother's worn-out, but very stiff willy. He wrapped his arms and knees around Manny, trying to keep his balance and control the penetration. Jake halted momentarily, reaching around to support James by holding him under his buttocks, spreading him wide for Manny and lifting the boy up and down to action the fuck. Exactly in time with his strokes.

"I love you guys," gurgled Manny, semi-incoherent.

"Love – ngh! Oh! – you too, M-Manny," panted James. "Mmph. Harder!"

Jake increased the thrust and speed of his strokes, keeping his lift and drop of James in tempo. He glanced at the ceiling, registering his childhood bedroom; the crucible of so many adolescent sexual adventures. James had ejaculated again, a clear drop wending its way down his shaft and onto his plump little balls, like a single raindrop on a windowpane. He was unfazed, rigor mortis stiff, at the age and stage where one can have an orgasm and carry on just as hard as if nothing has happened. Manny was incoherent with delight. Jake leaned in and licked Manny's cheek. Licked James' lips. Soon, they were locked in a sloppy, three-way kiss; connected front and back.

Chapter 4
Day Four

Records of Events of the City of Durham

Thursday 8^th July 2055

Weather: cloudy, muggy, windy, 33°C (the man is out of the weather house)

The funeral of Angelika Wojnowski will go ahead at midday today. The cathedral bell will be sounded to indicate the beginning of the procession from the cathedral to Whinney Hill.

A dinner will be held in honour of the family alongside the usual evening meal prepared at the castle.

Assessments and interviews of Archie Stephens by Emmanuel Kwame Addo and James Martin remain ongoing.

City Recorder: Mr James Martin

***

Manny was halfway inside the door of his office when James caught up with him. They both looked tired when they smiled at each other. James gave Manny a hug. Manny rubbed James' back.

"Thanks for last night," said James.

"That's what families do," said Manny. "We'll always stick together."

"Is Tracey really going to fix Harmonie's door today, or was that just the rum talking?"

"She's taking Theo up there this afternoon. After the funeral, so it'll be quiet and nobody will say anything. Even if they do, they can hardly justify leaving a woman and her kid there with a broken door."

"Me causing trouble again," sighed James.

"We didn't make this happen," said Manny. "We've just been left trying to make sense of the mess."

"Oh, I forgot to ask yesterday," said James. "Do you know anything about Archie's toy boat?"

"You mean this boat?" said Manny, walking over to his desk and picking up a wooden toy, about half the size of his forearm. "It must have broken when he dropped it. I found it on the riverbank where he was picked up."

James accepted the handmade boat from Manny, weighing it in his hands and turning it around. "No, I heard about it from Dan," he said. "Apparently Archie was trying to fix it when he found him; it was broken already."

"I have the rest of it here," said Manny. "The mast has snapped off with the little cabin underneath."

"I wonder how this happened?" said James, handing the boat back to Manny. "Can I borrow it as a prompt for Archie this morning?"

"No problem," said Manny. "He's more likely to want to talk to you about it than me."

"We should go and get him," said James. "Dunno about you, but I'm famished this morning."

"Yeah," smiled Manny. "I wonder why that is?"

They made their way down the corridor to Archie's little room. When they opened the door, they found Shelley curled up in the bed with Archie, who was stroking her head and shoulders gently.

"Me mam spent all last night with me," he chirped happily. "She even put us to bed. Then Shelley came in the window in the night. D'you think she likes me?"

***

Archie was in a good mood. He chatted away endlessly to James. It was hard to keep the focus on what they were meant to be doing. Eventually, James had to play his trump card. He pulled the bottom half of the broken boat from his drawer.

"Is this yours, Archie?"

"Yeah!" the boy squeaked. "Give it to me! That's me boat me granddad made for me mam!"

"Here you go," said James, passing the boat into Archie's outstretched hands. "Do you want to tell me a bit about it?"

"This is my favourite toy," beamed Archie, turning the boat in his hands. "Me mam says her dad made it for her when she was just a bairn, and she kept it all that time. I never knew me granddad, but me mam gave it to me when I was small, so I got to play with it, like I was playing with me granddad even though he weren't there, like. I kept it with me, even when we had to move about."

"You were playing with it on Monday, weren't you, Arch?"

"Aye?"

"How did it get broken?"

"Do I have to talk about it, James?" sighed Archie. "I just wanna forget about it all, like. It hurts my head to think about it."

James watched Archie carefully. Archie had caught his eye meaningfully, then let his shoulders slump and head drop, and curled into the side of the chair. He was still wearing his Pikachu tee-shirt and threadbare white sports shorts. James recognised the socks on his feet as the same ones he'd unpacked for Archie on Monday night. Archie pulled his legs up and drew his legs into his chest, making himself as small as possible in a corner of the geriatric green armchair. He looked tired, and pale. His arms and legs were tanned – he was a boy who spent all the summer outdoors – but, in the pallid light of the moody, overcast morning, James could begin to make out the patterns of powder blue and purple veins on Archie's plaster-smooth skin, intricate and delicate as artisan embroidery.

"You want this all to end, don't you Arch," said James.

Archie nodded into the side of the chair. James could see confirmation that Archie was head to toe in the same clothes he'd had on for two-and-a-half days as his balled-up form stretched the thin fabric of his white shorts tight around his bottom, revealing the tight white briefs beneath sporting skid marks where they tunnelled into his cleft.

"I'd like this to be over, too," said James. "I like spending time with you, Arch, but it's not nice to have to keep going over bad things together, is it?"

"No," Archie whimpered into his chest. The boat sat beside him on the empty half of the armchair. Marooned.

"You know how we can make this all end, Archie?"

He shrugged and shook his head.

"All I need is for you to tell me the truth about what happened on Monday between you and Angelika. Then we can start to work out how to make things better for you and for everyone else, you understand, Archie? I know it's hard, but I also know you're a very, very brave boy. Please tell me, Archie. I'm here to help you."

Archie quivered in the armchair. He opened his mouth as if to speak on a couple of occasions, but no sound came out. He drew his knees closer into his chest; so close it seemed his undersized clothing might rip down the middle.

James reached out and squeezed Archie's bare knee. It felt oddly lukewarm despite the oppressive weather of the morning. He gently rubbed the top of Archie's thigh.

"Take your time, brave lad. We've got all morning if you need it. I'll be here for you. I just want to understand."

"Angelika broke the boat," Archie mumbled. "But I didn't mean for anything bad to happen."

***

The sunlight had parted the cloudy sky for a brief period as Archie, tummy full from his lunch, made his way along the riverbank with his boat in hand. He skipped along the path a little way before catching himself and returning to his usual bouncy walk. Skipping was far too girly; he didn't need to give the other lads any more ammunition if he was to run into them again.

The summer birds filled the air with their melodic territorial squabbling while Archie settled himself down at a little indent, the bank close to the river level, where the slow water pooled on the inside of the approaching bend and got caught in his small pocket, perfect for floating his wooden boat on. Above him, the riverside path branched, one fork spindle taking the high route up to the south end of the Bailey, and the broken down stone bridge, the other following the bank as it looped back on itself to contain the cathedral city in its tight embrace. Archie lay on his front, occasionally bothered by hoverflies interested in the way his dirty-blond hair reflected the passing sunlight, as he chatted away to himself, imagining stories and adventures for he and his granddad to live out on the wooden boat on the river. An electric blue dragonfly zipped expertly above it; a dragon over a mythical sea where Archie and granddad were pioneering explorers, boldly defying any of the forces sent to break their resolve.

Angelika approached from behind unseen and unheard. Seeing Archie spread-eagled on his front, she took the chance to do something she'd recently learned that boys hated. She couldn't kick Archie in the groin like this, so she snuck in between his legs and carefully lowered the toe of her shoe onto the spot right in between his legs where his little balls must've been; the tip separating his cheeks and prodding his anus at the same time for good measure.

"Yeow!" yelped Archie, the skin of the bottom of his scrotum getting pinched into the ground. He flipped over quickly, propping himself up on his elbows and bottom. "How man! What'ya do that for?"

"Boys don't like that," sniggered Angelika.

"No, we don't! You could've crushed me nuts, man!"

"What are you playing?"

"Just playing with me boat, like. Leave us in peace. I don't wanna play with you."

"That's mean," said Angelika. She was wearing blue denim short-legged dungarees, grass stains on her bare knees. "No wonder none of the boys like you."

Archie smarted. He felt vulnerable, lain on his back with Angelika still planted between his legs, towering over him.

"What's the matter with you?" she said. "Cat got your tongue, tramp boy?"

"Why you calling us that?" whined Archie. "I thought you were nice, like."

"I am nice!" squeaked Angelika. "You're the nasty one."

"Why?" said Archie. "I'm just trying to play by meself. You came over and trod on me."

A breeze whipped through the eaves, making them rustle like fine-grained maracas. Archie was worried his boat might start floating away, but he didn't want to turn away from Angelika in case she took a swipe at him again. Her auburn hair played across her face in the breeze, strands sticking to her lips.

"Me mam and dad say it was you who was getting those sheep on Whinney Hill," said Angelika. "They say you like hurting things."

"I don't!" protested Archie, his heart thumping. "I like animals. We've got piglets at our place!"

"I'm telling me dad," sang Angelika. "He'll get them pigs took off you before you kill 'em."

"I'm not a killer," mumbled Archie, turning around and crawling away to gather up his boat from the water. "Leave me alone. I've done nowt to you."

"Where'd you get that boat toy from, tramp boy?" teased Angelika. "Everyone says you're a pikey and you steal stuff. Did you nick that boat?"

"It's mine! Me granddad made it for me mam when she was just a bairn!"

"Liar!" grinned Angelika, wickedly. "You don't have a granddad. You don't even have a normal dad, do you?"

"Fuck off," spat Archie.

"Oooooh!" giggled Angelika. "Now the pikey boy is swearing. You better behave yourself, tramp boy, or me mam and dad'll get the sheriff on you."

"I've not done nowt," huffed Archie, getting up and pushing past Angelika. "Leave us alone, stupid cow."

"Where you going, Archie?" Angelika said. "Off to hide what you've robbed? I'm telling me dad you've been nicking toys."

"Me granddad made it!" squealed Archie. "Look! It's made from wood!"

Archie held out the toy for Angelika to see it close up. She broke into a silly, gap-toothed grin, and snatched the boat from his hands.

"I've got trampy's boat! I've got trampy's boat!" squealed Angelika, running off down the bank.

"Come back," shouted Archie, face prickling with red heat and tears rushing to his eyes. "That's mine! It's mine!"

"Where's your dad gone, pikey boy?" Angelika sang, skipping away with the wet boat in her arms. "You've not got one! You don't know who he is, cos your mam's a slapper! Archie's mam's a slapper!"

"Stop!" roared Archie, drawing up behind Angelika and grabbing her roughly by the waist, a stray fist pounding into her stomach. He pulled her to him and stopped their running dead, stumbling and very nearly sending them both tumbling to the floor. The sun had been hidden again behind the carpet of cloud; their shouting and running had silenced the birds.

"Let go of me, stupid freak!" growled Angelika, fighting to escape Archie's grip. Archie wouldn't let up. He grabbed for his boat. Angelika drew it closer into her chest and dodged away from him as best she could.

"Give it back!" grunted Archie. "It's mine! It was made for me mam, not for you!"

"Your mam's a tramp too!" Angelika shot back, thrusting her hand back into Archie's face to claw him away, searing a deep scratch into his nose.

"Aargh!" shouted Archie. He spun around to tackle Angelika from the front. He had his arms locked around the little boat too, trying to prise it from her grip.

"Ow!" complained Angelika. "Archie, you're hurting me, you little thief!"

"Give me the boat!" panted Archie, heaving hard and almost pulling it clear. He stumbled backwards, tripping over his heels and landing heavily on his bum. He coughed out a pathetic sob.

Angelika was laughing, juggling the boat in her hands as she tried to regain control of it from Archie's full-body yank. Through her laughter, it slipped her fingers, dropping to the gravel path with a high-pitched crack.

"Ooops!" giggled Angelika.

Archie scrambled over to the boat on all fours. Tears dribbled down his face. "No!" he whimpered. "No, no! You broke it! You broke me granddad's boat!" He held the snapped upper piece in his hand and tried desperately to slot it back into place where it should have been.

"Aww, tramp boy's sad," said Angelika. "He's lost his only toy in the whole world!"

Archie ignored her. He was on all fours, eyes and nose streaming, trying in vain to get his boat to fit back together. Angelika skipped away. Seeing Archie hadn't followed, she came trotting back.

"What are you doing, Archie?" she said, hands on hips. "It's broken. You'll have to get another one."

"There is no other one," hacked Archie. "I gotta fix it."

"You're boring," snapped Angelika. "You're boring, and you're stupid, and you're smelly. And you're a tramp, just like your mam."

Archie remained focused on his boat. The bits just wouldn't click back together. They were snapped too awkwardly.

"Ain't you gonna say owt?" sighed Angelika. "Archie!"

Archie fumbled and focused, furrowing his brow and sweeping the candles of snot from his lip with the tip of his tongue, but the two pieces of boat simply wouldn't go back together. He growled. Then, swift as you like, Angelika landed another kick, right into the midriff of his left shoulder and upper chest.

"Now you're looking," smirked Angelika. "Leave it alone, poo-head. It won't fix."

Archie roared and scrambled to his feet in pursuit of Angelika, reaching for her ankles and knees as he rose. She squealed and made off down the bank again. She was fast for her age. Archie wasn't.

"Pikey's gone barmy!" she squealed. "Help! Help! Sheriff!" Her body rocked with laughter as she sprinted away.

Archie caught her as she galloped up a shallow incline, where the bankside path made its way up to weave between the collapsed pillars of the old stone bridge. There was a big tree, an oak. He pushed Angelika towards it. She pushed him back, nails drawn. The sweat from his face stung the gash she'd made in his nose, and as she grabbed at his arms, more salty, stinging scratches appeared. Archie ducked back. Angelika swung them around. The mighty feet of the oak made the ground rippled and uneven around them. They stumbled to one side. Tall grass bearded the ridge of a bluff of bank, atop which the oak tree stood, a muddy slipway down the middle to the water below having been worn in by generations of mallards. White and light brown pebbles were visible under the very lapping edge of the water, before it all turned the same caramel brown and all beneath was hidden. Bees buzzed by, disturbed from the riverbank foliage by the fighting children. Angelika swung them again. Archie grabbed at her arms and twisted them away, twisting the two of them around once more. He was dizzy. His heart pounded so much it hurt. His head felt like it was about to split.

"Just stop!" he barked at Angelika. "Why d'you have to call me names and kick me about?"

Angelika laughed again. She pawed at Archie's face, raking down the side of his cheek. He grunted at the stinging again. He'd had enough. Reflexively, he pistoned his fist at Angelika's face. One! Two! There was a crack and a spurt of blood as he hit the bridge of her nose, splitting his middle knuckle. The second blow hit the outside of her left eye, just as it bent into the side of her auburn-haired head.

Angelika's arms went limp. She cocked her head at Archie, eyes wide; glazing over. She stumbled backwards. The tree roots took her, sent her sprawling, rapidly horizontal. She slipped down the steep, muddy bank, her shoes uselessly dragging at the soil as her body followed the duckway down. She hit the river with more of a thud than a splash. Her head was hidden under the caramel water.

"Angelika?" panted Archie. "Angelika? Angelika!"

"So, she just sort of fell backwards, and she slipped down the gully where the ducks go in and out," Archie mumble-whispered, his cheeks waterfalls of silent tears. "I couldn't reach her from up there. Not at first, like. Not without falling in meself. And I can't swim. I tried to grab her. Eventually I got hold of her ankle and was able to drag her along, a fair bit down to where the bank was low enough for me to pull her out proper, like. But it was way too late. She drowned because of me. Because I lost me temper and I hurt her. I never meant it, James! I promise I never meant it! It were an accident. I swear it! I swear it, I swear it, I swear it! On me mam, and on Bella, and on me granddad's grave, I swear it's true!"

James could only nod along. His insides were missing; hollowed out. His vision swam with unspent tears; his head throbbed rhythmically. One! Two! One! Two! He rubbed his eyes and made to write another note down, but what was there to write? He put his pen down and poured them both a glass of water. He took a big gulp of his and set the glass back down with a clunk in the still office. He nodded again at Archie. "I understand," he said. "I understand."

Archie heaved to drag Angelika's sodden body out of the water. In the silence, the birds had started back up again. They sang and whistled for dear life in the energy-sapping damp heat of the afternoon. The sky shone white and wolfeye silver. The shiny blue dragonfly was back, searching out skimmers on the surface of the water.

"Angelika?" panted Archie, his entire body leaden with panic. "Angelika? Please wake up, Angelika!"

He slapped at her face, pale and wet and discoloured with blood and bruising. No answer. He pushed on her chest. Nothing. No breathing. No heartbeat. Archie fought back his disgust and pressed his lips to Angelika's fading pink mouth. It was warm and wet and rubbery. She didn't wake like any Sleeping Beauty. Archie blew into her mouth. He slapped at her chest, and tummy, and face. He pinched her nose and felt the bone and gristle grind around underneath. He let go in revulsion. He could taste water and Angelika's lunch. It was no use. And we all know whose fault it was.

"No, no, no, no!" whimpered Archie, kneeling over the battered, drowned body of Angelika Wojnowski. "Please, Angelika! Please wake up. I won't tell them what you said. I'll say it was all my fault. Please just wake up. Wake up! Wake up! WAKE UP!"

The scream rattled of the stone of the fallen bridge and the city walls. It sent all the birds rushing from the trees in a cacophony of alarm calls and beating wings; a rain of feathers. Someone would be down here soon. They'd see what he'd done.

"Angelika…" Archie sobbed over the body. He flopped back onto his bum, sniffed, and wiped his eyes as best as he could. Then he got to his feet and ran. He gathered up his broken boat from the bank and sprinted for his imagined adventure cove as fast as his jelly legs would carry him. His insides burned and churned. He couldn't decide whether he needed to piss, shit, or throw up. His body decided for him. He reached his shallow bank and doubled over, puking headlong into the river. Big chunks of potato and leek and yellow-orange mess and stringy saliva. The bitter taste of bile all around his mouth. He heaved and heaved until he was dry. He crawled up against a tree and dropped his shorts and undies as quickly as he could. He was still wrestling them down when a torrent of brown water flooded the trunk he sat against, red hot urine coating the insides of his thighs. He heaved again. He shook. His body was fully vacant. He crawled for a riverbank plant with broad, furry leaves, hoping to clean himself up. He didn't care that he'd be mooning anyone who walked past, showing off his bruised testicles and shitty brown hole. He was barely even aware. He simply rolled onto his side next to the plant, barely in control of his arms, and wiped down his thighs and his crack until he was clean, abandoning the dirtied leaves to the water. Up came his shorts and undies and he crawled back to his boat. Aimlessly touching the broken pieces together until a grown-up would inevitably come to get him.

***

Once he'd finished his account, Archie had sat silent but for his breathing, staring into his lap and kicking his legs as they dangled just above the office floor. James, feeling his feet were made of lead but his body light as a feather, made a couple of notes on a piece of paper, but otherwise barely took his eyes off the boy, waiting for him to make the next move.

"Do you believe me?" Archie eventually managed to croak out.

"Do you think I've lied to you?" countered James. He tried to keep his voice and his body language as calm and neutral as possible, though his head pounded, and his body was drenched with the acid sweat of anxiety beneath his tee-shirt.

"No!" said Archie. "Course not!"

"I told you I had a lion cub when I was a boy."

"You had it all written down, though. You told us as much."

"Yeah, but you didn't bother reading what I'd actually written," said James, a hollow smile playing across his face. "How do you know I was telling the truth?"

Archie sighed. He looked confused. Frustrated even. Like a constipated baby. Frustipated. James laughed mirthlessly to himself internally.

"Dunno," mumbled Archie. "I just do. I trust you, like. I believe what you was saying."

"I believe you too, Archie," said James.

Archie allowed himself a little smile. James thought he looked a little teary-eyed. "Thanks," the boy said, and blushed and looked away.

"You know, Archie, the things we remember aren't always what actually happened," said James. "Sometimes we remember things differently by accident. We can't help it. Sometimes very little things, but other times very big things."

Archie looked at James with a furrowed brow, swizzling his mouth around his face.

"That's why I like to write things down. Because it's even worse years later, after you've been keeping memories bottled up for all that time. If you don't let them out when they're fresh, you might never understand how you really felt at the time. Someone very special to me taught me that. That's why I've written down little things ever since. You get that, Archie?"

"I think so," he said, looking slightly uncertain. "You mean I should write down the story of what happened? So I don't forget it all wrong?"

"Pretty much," said James. "Here, let's take you back to your room with a pen and paper. You can get started if you want."

James rose from his seat and grabbed a small notepad and a tiny blue pen from his desk. He could only imagine that such little, flimsy pens had been designed for little boys. There was no other apparent purpose. This one had 'Coral' embossed into the plastic, which James assumed was something to do with the sea-blue colour. As he took a couple of steps towards Archie, he had an afterthought.

"You know, a story doesn't actually have to have happened to be true," said James, with a wink. Archie looked back at him with what James originally thought was an unreadable, wide-eyed expression. It took him a second to process and realise it was respect.

He smiled to himself again, but it made him feel no better. He was playing a game that Jake played; toying with the boy's sense of perception, forcing him to question. Good. It had worked for him, after all.

"Come on, stinker," smiled James, ruffling Archie's hair to encourage him out of his chair, and handing over the pen and paper.

"Will we still get to talk and that after today?" asked Archie, filing out of the office door ahead of James.

"I hope so," James replied. "I hope so."

***

James rushed for Manny's office. His body seemed to be operating on different circuitry from his mind. Everything was happening with a delay, and the centre of his perception was planted thirty centimetres behind the back of his head, so he watched himself moving and only vaguely worked out what it was he was doing half a second after it had already happened. He bundled through Manny's office door without knocking.

"Hi, James," said Manny, barely looking up from what he was doing. "It's a bit black over Bill's mother's. I hope the storm holds off until after this funeral."

"Manny, we have to get down to the riverbank now, before it rains!" cried James.

"Why?" said Manny. He looked up and saw James clinging to his door, quakes and wobbles cascading through his body, skin drawn and pale. "James, what's happened? Are you alright?"

"Archie told me what happened. Angelika didn't die where she was found. It was an accident. They had a fight and Archie punched her and she fell headfirst into the river of a steep bit of bank. He didn't batter her to death; she drowned. He tried to save her, but he was too slow because he was too little."

"James, slow down," said Manny, with cavernous eyes. "Sit down. Take a rest. Take a drink. Breathe and tell me, calmly, exactly what Archie told you."

"There's no time!" said James. "It could rain any second and then the proof will be gone!"

"Come on James, man, you've gotta clue me in here," said Manny. "What is Archie saying happened?"

"Angelika was bullying Archie," said James. "Apparently a lot of people have a problem with the Stephens. They think they're scroungers and interlopers because of what they've got away from. The Wojnowskis were round at Archie's house shouting the odds, on Sunday night. Angelika must've picked up on it. Archie was minding his own business playing with that boat toy. She came and teased him and hurt him; said things about his family and nicked the boat. She broke it and hurt him and teased him more. That's why he's covered in scratches – not because she was defending herself from a brutal attack, but because she was going after him! She kept going on about him, his mother, his family, his parentage, the broken boat – everything – until he snapped and lamped her one. That's what he meant to his mom when he said I did it for you – he was just responding to all the abuse they were getting! But he must have concussed her, or something, and she stumbled into the water and didn't come out. He didn't murder her! He dragged her out and tried to save her!"

"Okay," said Manny, getting to his feet and pacing around the office. "Okay, okay. You believe him, James?"

"Of course I fucking believe him!" James exhorted. He was on the brink of meltdown. Tears prickled behind his eyeballs.

"Alright," said Manny. "Sorry. Stupid question. Right. What can we do? How can we prove this?"

"We should be able to find the place where it all happened, if Archie's telling the truth," said James. "Maybe there'll be something there that can prove he's innocent."

Manny embraced James. He kissed him on the forehead. "One step at a time," he said. "We can prove he's not a murderer, first of all; what are we waiting for?"

***

The sky was heavy as James and Manny rushed down to the banks of the river the back way, between the cathedral and the old medieval library, jogging along the path until they reached the ruined bridge. The river ran brown; the birds and the bees were active. The green of the trees and the bushes billowed as the wind whipped by.

"There!" pointed James. "That must be the tree Archie meant; the bank rises up to meet the pillar of the bridge!"

They skidded to a halt on the pathway next to the tree. Ducks scattered into the water down a slipway worn into the steep bank. Score one for Archie.

"It's here," said James. "It must be. What are we looking for?"

"I don't know!" said Manny. "You tell me! You're the one he explained it to!"

"You're the sheriff!"

"God," said Manny. "We sound like we did when we were kids. Let's not start fighting now."

"Genius!" said James. "They were fighting. Kids get tangled up and roll around when they fight. There has to be footprints and tracks and stuff still here."

"That's what I would have suggested," said Manny.

"Bloody look then!"

They gently approached the scene of the crime, trying to disturb it as little as possible. They craned their necks. Manny got down on his knees.

"Look at these footprints," he said, pointing at the soggy riverbank. "They must be a couple of days old; the ducks have shit on them a bit since then."

"They're all stepped over each other and tangled," said James. "This is where they were fighting."

"Grappling with each other by the looks of it," said Manny. "Is that what Archie said?"

"It is," nodded James. "That means… maybe there are footprints over here, too?"

James stretched a large step over the site of the fight footprints. He knelt down at the duck runway.

"What do you see?" asked Manny. He was quickly sketching the prints from the struggle on a bit of paper.

"Two heavy, smudged footprints backwards," said James. "Same shoe tread as from over there; the smaller shoe. This must be Angelika stumbling backwards after Archie smacks her."

"Coming," said Manny. He tiptoed over the long way around, avoiding the fight scene. "Oh, God, yeah. And look at that scrape on the bank, too. Like someone's fallen backwards and their heel has dragged through the mud."

Manny began sketching again. James studied the muddy slope where the ducks came up and down. He felt he could almost touch Angelika; catch her in mid-air as she fell.

"Hey," said James. "What's that, there?"

"What?" said Manny, taking his eyes off his latest sketch. "Where?"

"This," said James, reaching down to release a little metal stud from the mud with his fingernails.

"Looks like a metal stud from jeans," observed Manny.

"What was Angelika wearing?" said James.

"What?" said Manny, returning to his sketch of the backwards footprints.

"What was Angelika Wojnowski wearing when she died?"

"Denim dungarees…" said Manny. "The back pocket had come loose. I assumed it was in the fight. It's one of the reasons why I had to make sure Archie hadn't done anything sexual."

"This is from her back pocket, then."

"Must be… When she fell backwards, she must have slid down the bank and it yanked the corner stud off and make the pocket come loose."

"So not Archie at all," said James, with some satisfaction. Where before he'd felt hollow, now he rippled with excitement. His instincts about Archie must have been correct after all!

"No…" said Manny, putting the little stud in his pocket for safekeeping.

"What about these footprints, along here?" said James, pouncing forward with renewed energy. All along the bank were the remains of confused footprints from the larger of the two feet, always facing towards the water. "These are Archie's!"

"Well, I'm pretty sure if we compared them to the tread on Archie's shoe, they'd be the same," said Manny, squatting down. "He's gone all along the bank, in a bit of a panic, by the looks of it."

"Look at those depressions in the long grass!"

"Is that not where ducks have been sitting?" said Manny, scratching his head with his pencil.

"No, duck bodies are much longer and fatter!" said James. "These are like little… little boy's knee prints!"

"So he was kneeling to do something?"

"To pull her out of the water!" James exclaimed. "He was telling the truth! It's all true! He didn't do it; he was trying to save her!"

"So he was…" said Manny, scribbling it all down on paper as quick as he could.

"So, you have to let him go!" grinned James. "He's innocent!"

"James…" sighed Manny. He got to his feet and put an arm around his brother's shoulder. "James, mate… All this proves is that he didn't beat her to death or hold her down in the shallows to drown her. He still admitted they had a fight. He might have deliberately pushed her in and then thought better of it, but too late."

"What?!" barked James. "You know that isn't true, Manny! Everything here is exactly as he described it! Like… how hard would a kid his size have to push another kid of a similar size to make them stumble back that far and that hard that they fall headfirst into the river? Tell me that, Sherlock!"

"Everything here looks as if it could fit with what he told you," said Manny. "But, James, please listen… you understand that sometimes we can be persuaded to see what we want to see. This could still be the scene of a boy shoving a girl down the bank, and only trying to get her back as a second thought. Or even, though I don't think he could've reached from here, preventing her from getting herself back out. At worst, it's still manslaughter."

"I don't believe this!" growled James. "How can you say that? He isn't a killer, Manny. He's been through hell! You said it yourself! How can it be manslaughter?! Manslaughter's, like… like if you kill someone after actively intending to do them serious harm, or accidentally through irresponsible actions! Archie's ten. He can't have intended to do serious harm in a kids' fight or understood the full consequences of what could happen!"

"Right, James. And I agree with you. But I have to report back on what my investigation shows. He admitted they had a fight, he hit her, and she fell in and drowned. We can see that here. So, I report back manslaughter. Then it's up to you to argue all the mitigating stuff and convince people you can't do a ten-year-old kid for an accident caused by a fight. Isn't that your job?"

"I thought we were in this together!" whined James. "I trusted you, Manny. But I bet you're just like everyone else. You all think I'm being soft because it's a young boy. You think I've got a problem. But I'm not the problem! Everyone else is the problem! Constantly telling me what I should do and how I should feel! No wonder I sympathise with Archie! No wonder I find him easier to get on with than half the fucking two-faced yokels in this city. I'm sick of it, Manny!"

"James," said Manny, trying to regather his thoughts and find the right thing to calm James down, but registering only hurt and panic, "I don't think you have a problem, okay? I love you. For who you are. Who you always have been. I respect you more than anyone else on this Earth. This isn't about us, okay? We've just been dropped in the middle of it and expected to make it all better. But we can't."

James shook and pulsed. He wanted to throw Manny's hand off his shoulder, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. There they were, in the eye of the storm, and what did they do – typical siblings – but brew one of their own.

"You think I'm damaged because of Jake," mumbled James, simply.

"Why the hell would I think that?" snapped Manny.

"Why does Tracey think that, then?"

"She doesn't!"

"Really?"

"Look," sighed Manny. "Tracey didn't live our lives. She hasn't a fucking scooby what happened or what Jake was really like. She gets the wrong end of the stick. She's just trying to protect us."

"So you don't think Jake molested us then?"

"Of course he fucking did," said Manny. "But that doesn't mean he hurt us. It doesn't make it a problem. It doesn't mean we're wrong or changed because of it."

"I don't understand what you're saying," James huffed.

"Could we consent at the age of thirteen to having a grown man stuff his dick in our arses, when he was the one thing keeping us not just alive, but happy to be? Of course we couldn't. But he didn't put a gun to our heads and rape us. You can't steal a normal, happy childhood away from two sad orphans. He didn't force us into anything we regret, we remember it fondly, we loved him to death, and him us. James, there is no problem here."

"I know that."

"Why are you asking then?"

James was silent. No answer.

"Jake was our father, James. That's a fact. He loved us unconditionally. You especially. He brought us up to be – I think – pretty amazing guys…" Manny cracked a grin. James laughed, through tears in his eyes and saliva blocking his throat. "So, he wasn't perfect. He was a moody, self-obsessed, boy-bothering old intellectual, not the fucking messiah. I know what you're like. I know what all these different processes of thinking and talking and thinking and going around in circles do to you. Stop trying to find perfect straight answers. Maybe Jake was guilty. Maybe Archie is guilty. It doesn't mean you can't like them as people. It doesn't mean it's wrong for you to want to go in to bat for them."

James looked at Manny through teary eyes. His mouth was pulled to one side in a watery smile, lips pulled trademark-tight over his crooked tooth.

"Please, James," said Manny, rubbing James' elbow. "Don't make me have to tell you just how much I love you. You'll get me blarting too."

"I love you, Manny," said James. "You're so clever."

Manny chuckled and pulled James into a hug. "Not so much as you. Too clever for your own good, smartipants." He rubbed James' back roughly. "Forget about all the rest of that stuff. What other people think is their problem, not yours. You know what you know. That's what's important."

"You sound like someone I know," sniffled James.

"Yeah," said Manny. "Rubs off, don't it?"

"I miss him so much."

"I know, James. I know."

The cathedral bell rang out. The funeral procession was about to begin.

"Shit!" said Manny. "We need to get across to Whinney Hill. If we're quick, we can head them off at the bridge."

"I can't face this," said James, setting off after Manny at a trot.

"I'll be there with you," said Manny. "We are in this together. I promise."

"At least I'll look sad," joked James, darkly.

"One less thing to worry about," Manny replied.

"Slow down," panted James. "We'll have to go up all those steps as it is, let alone wearing ourselves out first."

"Typical James," laughed Manny. "Ugh! What's that on that tree?"

James stopped dead. Manny was caught out and had to jog back to him.

"What is it?" said Manny.

"It's where Archie went into shock and nearly crapped himself," said James. "I told you; he's telling the truth about everything."

***

James and Manny caught up with Angelika's funeral procession as it made a slow, vibrating plod across the high concrete bridge. The sky had darkened to a midday flint, breeze whipping up around the party's heels as they marched their way across the river. There was no sound but footsteps and dull shudders on the bridge, birdsong and waterflow above and below. It was a claustrophobic affair; the grim reaper himself seemed to be haunting them around every corner, wreathed in the static of the short midday shadows.

Angelika was carried aloft in her purpose-built coffin, the lid still yet to be attached. Onward the grey party marched through the ghostly pale noon, past empty, soulless buildings, staring with their great lidless eyes; the empty streets their Hadean piste. Onwards, down the middle of Hallgarth Street, with its piggy pink fragments of stone buried into the dark, dusty surface. James succumbed to the rhythm and the silence. He felt like he'd slipped into another time, rootless and unencumbered as the wind.

Onward they marched, following the winding path of The Hallgarth, the prison walls a cliff face looming over them, cold and unrelenting, funnelling their passage onward, onwards and upwards, ascending the hill. Archie's yellow-haired chalk boy ignored them. He raised his bow for himself and fired its arrows at the great dark monster, though the sun was now wreathed under a smothering grey veil, woollen and abrasive as the sheep atop the grassy hill. They approached the junction of The Hallgarth and Whinney Hill. An older teen just ahead of James and Manny, whom both recognised only by face rather than name, picked up a fragment of house brick lying at the wallside, arm cocked ready to launch it at the Stephens' house. Manny jabbed him sharply in the shoulder, causing the lad to turn his head in surprise. Manny shook his head darkly. The boy dropped the shard of brick. James watched the Stephens' house closely. It looked dead.

They slipped around the back; they were on the grassy hilltop of Whinney Hill, looking down over the city ten minutes' walk away. James had never bothered taking in the view up here before. What surprised him the most was how the prison, which seemed so dominant at ground level, with its high walls imposing themselves on pedestrians below, disappeared into irrelevance behind rooftops and foliage. It was the more distant view of the monumental structure of the cathedral, so enormous it seemed to have been dropped in from the heavens in one, huge plop, that dominated the skyline. The next biggest landmark, the castle, looked pathetic by comparison.

"Perspective," James mumbled to himself. Manny looked at him, as if asking him to repeat in case he was being spoken to, but James just shook his head.

They stood at the back. A hole had been dug in the middle of the field atop the hill, disturbing the sheep and a couple of hairy ponies, which wandered gruffly away from the assembling humans. The family followed the coffin to the front, as it was placed on the ground beside the freshly carved hole. James and Manny caught their first sight of the grieving parents, mother and father knelt over the open coffin of their baby girl, cuddling and snuggling her lifeless body one last time.

"I'm glad you made it," stage whispered Kenzie incongruously, nodding along the line of assembled council members.

The girl's uncle, looking haggard and bereft, helped the parents to their feet, and stood beside them, preparing to say a few words and begin proceedings. The three of them gazed foggily out amongst the assembled crowd, eventually all seeming to catch James' eye at once, each looking away in turn, one by one. The uncle's voice crackled across the hilltop. He spoke of a beautiful, loving girl, stolen in only the ninth year of her life; the joy she had brought her family; the love they had shared. There were tears. The words ground the air around the ceremony to piggy pink brick dust; ash scattered in drifts haphazardly across the hilltop, like a dusting of caustic snow across the peak. Manny reached to grab James by the hand.

But James was gone.

***

The storm broke just as James arrived at the lane leading to the farm. He'd been walking west for five hours to meet it head on. He ran under the dense canopy covering the path, thinking it scant cover for the pounding rain until he reached the open farm courtyard and a wall of water. He was painfully out of breath – and soaked – when he reached the front door with his overhanging rooftop. A board sat over the window set into the upper portion of the door. Gone to the city. Not that anyone would be likely to come calling for them. He fished the key out of his pocket. Even locking up seemed pointless. Nobody was going to stumble across this place, so far out in the sticks. And even if they did, there was nothing in the house worth stealing; only memories in musty old clothes, dirty bedding, and childhood mementos. There were no chickens, no goats, no lions, and no people. Even all the plants that survived had gone feral. Still, this was his house. He kept a keyring with three keys; the ridged, cylindrical key to the farmhouse, and two modern keys, for the front door of the winter house; one brass-coloured, the other silver.

His home greeted him with the musty embrace of an elderly grandparent. It took him by the hand and led him to the living room sofa, right to his place where he always sat, and set him down. It promised him a biscuit; pinched his cheek and told him just how much he'd grown. James lay back against the settee, letting his head loll over the top of the seat, his vision focused onto the ceiling until he closed his eyes and blacked it all out. He listened to the rain hammer the rooftiles and rafters, and the stones of the yard. He was home; the home of games with toy cars, and bathtime singalongs with Mommy in the winter next to the fire, and skinned knees and elbows, and goats and chickens; and dark, endless winter days, cuddled under three blankets in front of the fire with Jake, hunger twisting his stomach like a schoolboy's tie yanked tight, being told stories, and roleplaying endless fantasies, all just to keep his ebbing spirits alive. How he needed that escape now. The rain beat down in all directions, flooding his perception. Eyes closed; just the sound and the vibrations of the rain and thunder crackling across the sky, the smell of home, and the support of familiar cushions beneath his body. There was no world. There had been no other life. All there was was James, and this house, and this room, in this place. Everything else was a roleplay with Jake in front of the fire.

He lolled; nodded off. His feet were glad of the rest, and his mind swam, unmoored. It bathed in the beck over in the woods with two happy, cheeky little boys; followed the flow down as the stream thickened. It joined the river, bobbing along as it rushed through the uplands and moors, bubbling away like Tracey's dinner saucepan. On he flowed. Two boys and a man on a tiny riverboat, finding their fortune amongst the reeds. Goats foraging and children playing by the riverside as the river wended its way downstream, looping around a promontory. Children bathing in the shallows. A little toy boat; mallards and moorhens. Two brothers joking by the riverside as it widened and ran its course, off on another adventure. A single, final, rowing boat, drifting out alone to sea, a gift to the waves forever.

When James opened his eyes, the storm had passed. There was no sound but the birds outside in the trees and scuttling about on the roof. The air smelt much fresher. The sun had slipped a fair few ticks down the sky. It was visible, again, dragging wisps of yellow and grey cloud west with it.

James was thirsty. He started a fire in the hearth with abandoned firewood and matches. He stepped outside into the cleansed air and drew water from the well. He brought it inside to boil it, safe and ready to drink. He thought about dinner. Everything was simpler here. He knew the tasks in order, and what he must do to fulfil them. He'd watched the adults doing it since before he had the vocabulary for what was going on. He strode into the kitchen and opened the window a crack. Ducks were bathing in puddles where the old chicken coop used to be. He went to his bedroom and picked up his childhood bow. It seemed small now. He tested the weight and fingered his arrows. He returned to the window. The ducks bathed happily. James picked a target. Thirty seconds later he was on the other side of the wall, the coop deserted but for feathers, collecting his dinner.

He picked some herbs from the garden. They'd gone feral. There were some edible onions and potatoes. He kept at his task. It made him content; zen-like. The sun wound down a few ticks more. Eventually, James had his dinner. Roast duck in herb and onion dressing with roast potatoes. It was a triumph. He sat at the table and gorged, washing it down with good old farm water. Martin water, boiled and jugged by the householder. It was wonderful. The dinner reminded him of childhood.

The dinner reminded him of childhood.

James ate and ate and finished his plate. What a big boy you are, Jamey. It never touched the sides.

The dinner reminded him of childhood.

The sun was creeping beneath the hills and trees behind the farm. James couldn't hold on anymore. There was nothing left to blank his mind. No homestead task; no journey to make; no nothing. No escape. No answer. James found his way to the living room armchair. He'd put the fire out soon after the water had boiled. It was dark. It was comfortable. It was familiar. He leant back and drew up his legs. He pulled them to his chest. He bawled. He bawled like a nine-year-old boy.

***

Hours passed.

James finally roused himself from the farmhouse armchair, tears still streaking his vision in the greyscale dark of the house. He stumbled across the fireplace rug, where he used to sit in the old tin bath as a child, to play with the photographs of his parents on the mantlepiece, moving them this way and that; just fingering them absentmindedly. He looked up at the door to Jake's room, hanging slightly ajar. He had finally clocked that the house had the musty smell of abandonment; it hung in the air heavily, exerting an invisible pressure on his body. It made him have to breathe harder; made his heart beat faster. He pushed off the mantlepiece above the fireplace and turned towards Jake's room, leaning tenderly against the door as if he was afraid it would turn to dust on contact; caressing it like a lost lover. The scent of sleeping Jake hit him like a kidney punch, his senses reeling his memory in a hundred different directions at once; repeated images of childhood and adolescence assailed him from all sides. He stumbled to the desk, feeling the lumps and bumps of the varnished wood underneath his thumb and forefingertip. His hand wandered to a box of matches lain idly on the tabletop, and he struck one, finding a half-alive candle to revive, bursting through the sepia darkness of his childhood home like sacred fire. Papers and photographs were scattered on the desk. He took a couple of the pictures in his hand and picked up a CD case that had been lying alongside them. Then he took the candle and turned back to the door, unable to stand the smell of Jake any longer, and petrified of inhaling so much of it that it would disappear, like some precious finite resource, never to be renewed again.

Sat on his old bed, shrouded in planet bedcovers and lit only by the dancing light of some candle donated from the distant past, James clicked open the cover of his battery-operated CD Walkman. The hinge no longer worked; the entire top of the CD player hung off by a plastic ribbon of electronic connections, strung fat and narrow along the straight edge at the top-middle of the plastic casing. He placed in the album from Jake's desk. When I Have Fears. He placed the buds of his battered old headphones in his ears, and he hit play. There was enough juice left for the CD to begin spinning, and the sound to open up somewhere in the middle of his skull.

First, the eerie, distant caw of an electric guitar being bowed. Then, the sound refracted and reverberated off itself, reversed and reverberated again, with tremolo, wobbling and vibrating in the manner of a wolf howling in the forest. Out of nowhere, the bass and drums broke like a wave over the warble of refraction, with the intense energy of a nightmarish, full-pace escape from a pitch-dark jungle, lifting hairs all over James' body. The guitar cut back in like a panic alarm, screaming over everything; the sleeper desperate to wake but making no sound, paralysed in their slumber. It broke over itself, sliding and crashing in a desperate breakdown, before the bass and drums were left to themselves again, insistent as a pampered only child. One and three-quarters of a minute in, a manic voice cut across everything. Frantic, Irish, pugilistic.

I am a blissless star, corroded through the core…

James had closed his eyes. He reopened them to the dancing of the candle wick, incongruously in rhythm with the beat filling his skull, drawing his eyes back to the photographs in his hands.

I am a weightless diver, terrified and free. The possibility of symphony within my tragedy…

Running his hand over the first, there he saw himself, aged eleven, grinning to himself distracted on the comfy grey corner sofa at the winter house, football shirt clinging to his torso, naked from the hips down. His limp willy sat clumsily against his floating balls, the tail of his foreskin bending slightly as it brushed the surface of the seat cushion, his thighs spread.

I am the underworld; the one you want to leave; a frail democracy, benign treaty, courageously foreseen…

He felt his penis grow and twitch in the confines of his trousers. He had been such a cute, sweet little boy; innocent, and yet profoundly guilty time and again. James reached to release the head of his penis to sit underneath his waistband, stretching up from the depths for air. He flipped over to the next photograph. Drums and guitars spasmed and caterwauled. He and Manny were twelve and eleven, respectively. Naked as the days they were born. Captured in a moment, out in the courtyard, on a blisteringly sunny afternoon, they split their faces squealing and laughing as Jake, out of shot, taking the photo, fired ice-cold water at them from the water gun, their bodies side-on and hands up to protect their overjoyed faces, genitals flying in the turbulence of summer fun. The music broke through its anxiety; one of the guitars relaxed into a more gentle, melodic partnership with its overawed brother, and the bass and drums eventually followed, drawn by the siren song.

Not at all; not for everything. It's not for everything at all. Not for everyone; it's not for anyone at all.

James had slid his trousers and pants down around his thighs. He sat on his childhood bed, his ever-so-slightly hairy adult buttocks against the cool sheets. He looked back into his past, at himself and Manny, and pumped his hard cock to the beat. He and Manny were beautiful. Perfect. Exact miniatures of the men they were to become. So what if Jake was a pervert? He was their pervert. So what if he shouldn't have been doing sexual things with them? He was their only parent and provider. He made their lives normal. Made their lives fun. Worth living. He made them who they were.

For everything.

For nothing.

For everything.

For nothing.

For everything.

For nothing.

James was pounding at his stiff prick, sliding his skin back and forth with the grace and precision of decades of practice; choking his shaft with all the pressure and urgency he'd applied to Mrs Williams' teats, all those years earlier, to harvest that precious milk for Nuala. He fixed his eyes alternately on his splayed eleven-year-old form on one side, and he and Manny, twelve and eleven, throwing their naked bodies about on the other. He felt the moment coming.

For everything.

For nothing.

For everything.

Is for nothing.

For everything.

For nothing.

For everything we have.

James sprayed reckless volleys of cum across his boyhood bedspread; across the CD player; across the photographs; all over his hand and with the occasional stray splash on his legs. As the next song began, he lay back against the pillow, panting heavily, feeling his jism cool as it pooled on his skin, mirroring the cooling and unclenching of his body. Everything felt relaxed. He breathed deeply; smelled himself on the fabrics and in the air around him; subtly different shades between younger boy and slightly older man. He felt he almost knew what to do, if only he could wait and let it come to him more concretely. His bed was comfortable and familiar. As the next song bobbed and rocked, caught in a Rockall squall, James felt his eyelids grow heavier. His breathing softened. The wet patches on his hand, his crotch, and wherever else across his outstretched body, set sticky in the gloom. The candle burnt itself down. The photographs adhered to his steadily settling chest. His shoulders turned to jelly, and James' head lolled to one side on his pillow. He smiled as a single image of his mother, laughing to him in springtime, flashed across his head, just as rumbling and rolling drums signalled the start of another track, driving bass his carriage to a slumber he'd booked years in advance.

***

"My whole life I had people telling me I was getting it wrong. I was made to feel like I was constantly doing the wrong thing. But I've never understood how else to be. I've been off the boil so long I can barely conceive of how it would feel to whistle."

"I love how clever you are. How you think. How you speak. How you do things. I always have. I loved everything about you from the first minute; I wanted to be you. Please, don't. Don't leave us."

"We're both being set free, James. You have your own life to live. I've lived mine."

"But I don't want to be free. That's never what I wanted. I want us to be together."

"We were together, James. We always will be."

Chapter 5
Day Five

Records of Events of the City of Durham

Friday 9^th July 2055

Weather: sunny, breezy, 28°C (the woman is out of the weather house)

Preparations are being made for an address to the city and council meeting in the cathedral tomorrow to decide further steps in the killing of Angelika Wojnowski by Archie Stephens.

EKA.

***

James, where the hell are you? I wrote an update on today for you. If you get back in and see this, please come and find me. I just want to know you're safe. We're all really worried about you. Please come back, Jamey. I don't know what we'd do without you. Tracey and Theo give their best.

All my love,

Manny xxx

***

Waking with childhood photographs stuck to you by dried spunk is not the most conventional reveille, but James was greeted with it all the same as the morning sun crept onto his face past the undrawn curtains. The CD player was beside him on the bed, battery gone, while the headphones boa constrictor-ed around his arm and tucked uncomfortably under his body leaving indented grooves in his skin, the jack having popped loose from its socket. James grunted and shook his arm free. His mouth tasted of duck, and he realised how much his body stank of sweat and stale sex. He needed a wash before he could begin to countenance anything else. He pushed himself upright and hoisted his pants and shorts back up. There was a start.

His only company was the crackling of the fire as he stripped and heated the water. His home was empty and silent; no children to cleave the air with their squealing, nor songs and games between companions around the fire. It was like the place was in stasis, waiting for someone to return home and awaken it from its long slumber. James alone was not that man.

He washed and he ate the remains of his duck. He had no choice but to put on yesterday's clothes, but something made him stray to his parents' old bedroom. The light in there was strange; the sun shining straight at thin, closed, white curtains, making the room simultaneously bright and shaded. Hints of his mother's smell still toyed with James' senses, even all these years later. He wasn't sure if they truly were there, or just imagined. He touched her old pillow gently with the tips of his fingers; felt the texture of a hair on the undisturbed indent. He raised his fingers and thumb to his face and picked up the scent, but within a second it had gone.

James opened the wardrobe. The side he'd revealed was a musty mess of his father's old clothes. Only one set was left hanging up; the suit Jake had borrowed the day they said goodbye to James' mother for the last time. James pulled the jacket out on its hanger. He looked at it closely; tested the texture with his hands. He held it up to himself. It would fit him perfectly. He returned to his bedroom, looking for his old rucksack, but it wasn't there. He tried Manny's room instead, but it was just a mess of Manny's things. Nothing of his in there. Nothing of use, at any rate. Feeling anxious, and feeling guilty about feeling anxious, he headed back to Jake's room. He'd have to return the photos, anyway.

It was easier to see the mess of Jake's desk in the daylight. James set out marching across the room to explore it, then spotted his old bag down beside Jake's bedside table. He stooped to gather it up by an arm strap and got a whiff of Jake's unmade bed as his body disturbed the air. It seemed wrong, really, to think of it just as Jake's bed. He'd shared it every night for nearly two years of his life and had been a frequent visitor forever after. An abandoned pair of Jake's boxers sat looking dishevelled atop the wrinkled sheets. James resisted the urge to press them to his face and inhale them for dear life. He made his way back to the desk.

There seemed to be much more there in the light of day. More photos. Scribbled scraps of paper. A couple more CD cases. James pulled out a torn page he'd ignored last night, having picked the album he listened to up from on top of it. It was a printed page, clipped from a book. A poem, 'When I Have Fears'.

When I have fears that I may cease to be

Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain,

Before high-piled books, in charact'ry,

Hold like rich garners the full-ripen'd grain;

When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face,

Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,

And think that I may never live to trace

Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance;

And when I feel, fair creature of an hour,

That I shall never look upon thee more,

Never have relish in the faery power

Of unreflecting love!–then on the shore

Of the wide world I stand alone, and think

Till Love and Fame to nothingness do sink.-

James recognised it from somewhere. Jake had used it to teach him something once, but he couldn't put his finger on what it was. He couldn't quite place the poet, either. He rotated the page back and forth, hoping it would give something away. The name Keats rang a bell in the back of his head. Or was it Shelley? Then he thought of Archie, spending another night alone in the castle, only – if he was lucky – the capricious tortoiseshell cat for company. And only he, James, knew the truth and would believe him.

James sighed and closed his eyes for a couple of seconds. He went to replace the poem on the desk, tired of reflections on death. He saw there was something else underneath it; a page torn from a child's exercise book. It was his own handwriting. James picked it up. He couldn't tell exactly how old he would've been; the handwriting could've been anywhere between perhaps nine and twelve or thirteen. But upon reading it, he suddenly remembered writing it. It was before Manny. He was perhaps ten, maybe eleven. He read the short verse aloud to himself.

When I am big, and my body is strong,

I'll build a great castle with towers of stone.

Though summers be hot, and winters be long,

I'll be safe and happy because I have grown.

That was his response to whatever Jake had tried to make him do with the poem. James was shocked by its candid simplicity. Despite everything, it was optimistic. It was fearless. This was who he was. It was what Jake had tried to bring out in him. His stomach rumbled and burned with a new fire. He was James Martin. He had no reason to be afraid.

James slid the poem into the front pocket of his bag. He realised he hadn't brought the photos back in with him to put back on the desk. No matter; he'd take them too. Jake would hardly miss them. As he turned to leave the room, one last curio on the desk caught his eye. There was a large piece of paper upon which everything else had been resting. James turned back and slid it out, carefully as he could. It was covered in a large diagram of something.

When James had the whole thing stretched out on the table before him, and began to make sense of it, he realised it was a family tree. Jake's family tree. He found him there, near the bottom. Jacob Daniel Baker, b. 1990. Up above were Jake's parents. His dad had evidently died before James was born, his mother shortly after. There, alongside Jake, was what must've been his brother Jon. Jonathan Laurence Baker, b. 1996. He had a little equals sign next to him. He was connected to somebody else. Francesca Giorgia d'Elia, b. 1993. Beneath them a little line extended. Jake had written in 'baby?', but there was nothing more. The family tree extended upwards, through all four grandparents' lines. Ancient ancestors with names like Constance, and Everard, and – James noted, with a smile – Archibald. The line stretched back some generations, but Jake had ensured it remained connected to the present. A wiggly line forked in two below his name. James Peter Martin, the first entry read, b. 2023. Beside that was another familiar name. Emmanuel Kwame Addo, b. 2023.

James picked up Jake's abandoned pen and decided to do some editing of his own. He added another little equals sign next to Manny's name. Tracey Grace Shawcross, b. 2027. He stretched another line below them. Theodore Kwabena Arthur Addo, b. 2050. He raised his shoulders and smiled to himself with satisfaction. He was about to move to leave, then Jake's entry caught his eye again. He reprised the pen and completed the entry for Jacob Daniel Baker. 1990-2050.

***

James had an idea as he wandered unhindered through the ever-silent Hamsterley, tracking along the main street and back out of the village, towards the isolated and well-hidden church of St James. There was a turn ahead he knew well, where a lane led to a track that followed the steep banks of the Wear along until it flattened out to a shallow, stony shore. That's where Jake hid their boat. It ought still to be there. James pulled the rucksack tighter on his back and determined that the punt would be his transport back to the city. Sure, it would take all day, and he'd have to negotiate rapids and weirs along the way – not to forget that the river got quite deep in the middle towards Durham, and the pole would probably only reach the bottom near the banks – but it was his boat, and James felt insistent that he should take it.

Once he had the punt dragged out from under the trees and turned the right way up, he was certain he'd made the right decision. The flat-bottomed wooden boat seemed as sturdy as ever, and its long metal pole and short wooden paddles remained intact and in place. He had no regrets once he was out on the water. The weather was sunnier and cooler than the days that had come before during the week, and all was perfect for James to have a nice, relaxed day, gently floating downstream to return to the chaos that awaited him in the city.

***

The rowing boat was prepared downriver from the city, beyond the great weirs that had controlled the flow of the river through what had once been the centre of the modern town. Jake had hated them being in Durham, regardless of how well he knew the city, but in the end, he had little choice but to join them permanently. The strength to keep the farm up by himself had failed him.

It began by accident. A search for supplies took them farther afield one autumn day, with the afterthought that they could always spend a couple of days by the sea if they couldn't get back the same day. On arrival in Durham they found a city in the midst of regaining a community; people coming together to pool their resources in the hot summers and support each other through the harsh winters. Jake – ever the socialist – was smitten. A cashless, co-operative society, right there on his doorstep. James and Manny were in their late teens. It became their go-to winter home, to save their long trek south. The boys quickly became integrated; awed by the opportunities of living in a community of dozens of people. Jake never quite adjusted. He was too tired of community and too jaded to bother with the petty politics, as he called it. He had the farm. The boys could come back and visit at weekends. Just like when he went off to university at their age, he said.

Jake never intended not to return to the farm after his last winter; it just never quite happened. With Cybi the only goat left, he'd been donated to the Durham herd anyway. No good having an old billy goat bumming around on his own. The last of the chickens made their way to the city that winter too, ostensibly for safekeeping over the winter, but never to return. Just like their owner. Jake had a cold he just couldn't shift, clinging to his chest. He kept saying he'd head home when he was up to it, but I'm just too tired right now – a few good nights of rest and I'll be back on my way. The only way he had left to go was downriver, just as he'd wanted. The moors upstream were lost to him now.

James and Manny loaded him into the boat, shrouded in a blue sheet. They dragged it downriver, all the way, past every turn and over every bump, though it took all day. Eventually, the task became too difficult as the river yawned wider and cut deeper through the ruins of the big city by the sea, where much, much bigger boats lay rusting and unfinished in the dockyards. The banks were too high and restricted here; Manny and James too tired. The boat did its own work from there. It floated along, pushed by the current and the receding tide, and they followed it along from the vantage point of the banks. As the sun set over ghostly, hollowed buildings behind them, James and Manny watched from the end of a long, arcing, battered pier as the boat disappeared out amidst the black waves of the North Sea. A final journey and a final adventure.

Jake had always wanted to go to Scandinavia, but never quite made it. As a final wave overwhelmed the little plastic tub that had so bravely bobbed its way right out to sea, James felt bitter that, even now, Jake never would.

***

The sun was low as James guided the boat into port at Hatfield's landing platform. Shadows from the brutalist university buildings on the far bank reached far enough across river to shade James as he tied the frayed rope at the punt's end to the wooden stage.

"James!" Manny cried, his feet pelting and reverberating on the steep concrete path from the college down to the bank. James finished his knot and looked up, stepping off the boat. He gave Manny a sheepish wave; his brother must have spotted him from his bedroom window. "Oh my god, man! Don't ever do that again!" Manny charged across the landing stage and threw his arms around James. "I was so worried about you. Please don't ever, ever do anything like that ever again!"

"It's okay, Manny," said James, hugging him back. "I just had to go home for the night. Clear my head. Get some perspective on everything."

"I'm so sorry it's been so bad," said Manny. "I love you, Jay. I promise you can talk to me about things. I promise I'll be more supportive. Really, I do. Just tell me you won't run off like that again, please!"

"I won't," said James. "I promise. It's been a long day; I just want to go home and sleep."

"You're staying with us tonight," insisted Manny, gripping James by the biceps and looking sternly into his eyes. "I'm not letting you out of my sight."

"You know what," sighed James, looking back into Manny's coffee-brown eyes. "I'd like that. I'd like that a lot."

"You can go in Theo's bed," said Manny, releasing James from his grip. "He'll have to come in with us. He'll be pleased with that anyway." Manny turned and looked at the punt tied to the wooden platform. "How come you brought our old boat here?" he smiled.

"Why walk when you can float?" smiled James in return. "It's like a metaphor for where my head's at right now."

"You can come and rest it," replied Manny. "Let us look after you."

Manny led the way back up the slope to the college. James followed him. It was strangely dark beneath the trees, despite the bright orange summer twilight all around. The sound of midges and mosquitoes assailed their ears as the insects flitted by their heads.

"There's something you should know," said Manny, sounding glumly serious.

"What is it?" said James, immediately feeling rotten once more, just as he'd begun to feel ripe again.

"Kenzie has arranged an address and meeting tomorrow, to decide Archie's case," said Manny. "I told her after the funeral that I thought we pretty much had the details worked out. She insisted on going ahead tomorrow. I tried to delay her, but she says she wants it all finished quickly. Something about people getting closure and moving on."

"She's insane," sighed James, drily. "But she doesn't surprise me. I'll just have to get my proposals written up tomorrow morning."

"Don't bother," said Manny. "She wants you to address the whole town meeting with them."

"Fucker…" said James, leaning his head against Manny's back as they climbed a few steep, twisty steps to emerge in the lower back yard of the college.

"You alright?" said Manny. "You don't have to do this, you know."

James shuddered. "If I don't do this, god knows what they'll do to Archie."

"I hope you've brought some magic back with you in that backpack, then," said Manny, shooting James a wan smile.

"Nah," said James. "Just my dad's suit, two pictures of me and you naked, and a poem I wrote when I was ten."

"It's a bold strategy," grinned Manny, "but I think it might just work."

"Shit or bust," shrugged James with an equally wide smile. He glanced up at the stone townhouse and spotted Tracey watching from an upstairs window. She waved. He waved back. She blew a kiss. They made their way through the back door of Manny's building and up two flights of stairs to his family home. Theo greeted them at the top of the stairs, wearing just a pair of black pyjama shorts.

"Uncle James!" he yawned. "Mammy and Daddy said they was worried you'd got lost, but now we found you again." He trotted forward and hugged James around his waist. James ran a hand through the boy's soft, wavy, dark brown hair. "I'd be really sad if you was lost. Please don't get lost again."

"I won't, Theo," said James. "No need to worry about that. Love you, big boy."

"Love you too!" Theo yawned another wide, throat tightening yawn.

"Go find your mom, sleepy head," said Manny. "Tell her you're sleeping with us tonight; Uncle James is having your bed."

"Okie-doke," said Theo, stifling another yawn. "Night, Uncle James. Look after the teddies for me."

"Night-night, Theo," James said softly. The little boy trotted off into his parents' bedroom. Manny pushed open the door to his son's room.

The curtains were closed. The bedroom was pleasantly dim, shadow filling the comfortably large space. The floor was a minefield of dirty socks and briefs, abandoned bottoms, balled up tops, and forgotten toys. The air had the pleasantly sweet aroma of a small child's space. James made his way over to the lumpy bed and let out a yawn of his own.

"You'd think there was a boy in there already," smiled James, pulling back Theo's sheets to reveal a higgledy-piggledy mass of teddy bears stuffed beneath the covers.

"Look at this one," said Manny, holding up the worse-for-wear badger toy. "Theo's favourite."

"Jake's badger!" cried James. "Wow! To think that would have just been left stuffed at the back of the wardrobe to rot if you hadn't taken it, all those years ago!"

"I like badgers," smiled Manny. "They're black and white at the same time!"

"I've always loved your sense of humour, from the very beginning," gushed James, blushing as he looked into Manny's eyes.

"All those years little baby Jake was cuddling this thing, I think he was just waiting for me," chuckled Manny. "He didn't know it, but I was his badger-in-waiting."

"Well, you do live in a hole in the ground," laughed James.

"Badgers are very tidy animals," nodded Manny. "Did you know foxes often lodge with them, because badgers keep the set clean while foxes scare away all the little pests?"

"I wish I knew as much about badgers as you," replied James, the two men grinning at each other.

"I love you, James," said Manny. "Please don't ever do that again."

"I'm sorry," said James. "And I'm so lucky to have you. And Theo. And Tracey. I love you all more than I can express. I mean that."

"Us back at you," said Manny. "We're here for you. Whenever and whatever you need. However big or small."

"I know that," said James. "I think I've always known that. And, anyway, I've sorted my head now. I know what I've got to do. I promise."

"I love that head of yours," said Manny. "But I think Jake always understood it better than anyone else. You have to remember to make the rest of us understand, James."

"Yeah, well…" said James. "There's nobody left who knows me and understands me like you do."

Manny drew James into a long, close hug. They felt each other breathe; they felt each other's heartbeats; they could smell each other's hair, skin, and breath.

"Let's sleep now," said Manny. "Tomorrow's another horrible day. Not to mention Theo getting antsy if Mommy and Daddy aren't both in bed together before he falls asleep."

"Get back to him," said James. "You're his knight. You have to be there to save the day for him, always."

"Goodnight, James," said Manny, reaching back to catch James' fingertips in his, in a hand's-end squeeze and shake, just as they retreated in opposite directions.

"Night, Manny. Love you."

"Love you too!" Manny replied, just as Theo's bedroom door closed on itself, and James was left alone with his thoughts.

Chapter 6
Day Six

Records of Events of the City of Durham

Saturday 10^th July 2055

Weather: sunny, calm, 30°C (the woman is out of the weather house)

Today there will be a general meeting of citizens in the cathedral to hear the address of Emmanuel Kwame Addo (EKA) on the investigation into the facts of the death of Angelika Wojnowski, and James Martin on suggested best steps forward in the case of the accused, Archie Stephens, aged 10. A full council meeting will follow in order to decide the outcome. The final decision of the council will be announced to the waiting assembly.

Children too young to attend will be looked after elsewhere on the cathedral site until such time that the assembly is concluded and dismissed.

The decision will be effective immediately.

EKA reports that he was called to attend the recovery of a fox carcass on Whinney Hill. It appears the fox had attempted to catch some of the sheep but strayed too close to a pony and was kicked to death. This explains the injuries and deaths sustained by sheep grazing on the hill in recent weeks.

***

James woke to the sound of Theo singing. Tracey had evidently taken him for a morning wash with her, and his voice reverberated from the bathroom around the entire floor. James twisted in the little single bed, soft toys poking different parts of his back. He pulled a teddy out from between his bum cheeks. He'd certainly had more comfortable nights; it had been a mistake to agree to look after the teddies.

James found Manny in the room they used as their kitchen and dining room. He offered James a morning beetroot juice – which he gladly accepted – and some flatbread and oil. Theo's singing subsided, and there was the sound of giggling and little legs running – probably naked Theo being chased into his bedroom to get his clothes put on.

"I forgot to tell you about my dream from Monday night," said James.

"Oh; go on," said Manny.

"It was the past; before we were born," said James. "Jake was in some shop, in a busy city with old, stone buildings. He had a boyfriend with him, and two twin boys, just a bit bigger than Theo."

"Funny dream," smiled Manny.

"I know," said James. "I can't get over how real the boys seemed. But they can't have been; Jake never had any kids."

"Except us," said Manny. "We were two little boys of pretty much the same age."

"True," said James. "I don't really get it, though."

"What's there to get, James? It was a dream. You're thinking too hard about straight answers again for things that don't have them."

"You're probably right," said James. "You know, I read that our brains are no good at just inventing faces. All the people you see in dreams are recycled from people you've seen before."

"Now, that is weird," chuckled Manny. "You must have seen some young twins once and thought, wow, they look like they could belong to Jake!"

"Shut it, you," smiled James, taking another gulp of his beetroot juice.

"How are you feeling about today?" said Manny, cradling his own cup and looking James lovingly in the eye.

"Fine," said James. "Just want it over with, really. Wish I'd had the chance to write something down, though."

"Just speak from the heart," said Manny. "You're good at that."

"Yeah," said James. "I might have to be."

"Daddy! Uncle James!" cried Theo, bounding into the room. He was wearing only a hastily pulled-up pair of red briefs, and full of smiles. He wrapped his arms around Manny.

"Theodore Arthur, get back here!" came Tracey's stern voice.

"Mammy said you're going to the castle for work soon," said Theo. "I wanted to see you first and say bye-bye."

"That's my sweet boy," said Manny, cuddling Theo into his lap and kissing his cheek. "Love you."

"Love you too, daddy," smiled Theo, bouncing from his father's lap. "You too, Uncle James!"

James gathered Theo up onto his lap and repeated the cuddling and cheek kissing. Just as Manny had, James received back a sloppy one on the nose from Theo.

"Come on, Theo," sighed Tracey, kindly. "We can't have you running around in just your pants, you nana!"

"I was saying bye-bye before they go," Theo said simply, trotting back off to his bedroom to continue dressing.

"Y'alright James?" asked Tracey, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Fine," he said. "Honestly. Thanks."

"Good luck today. I'll be with you every step of the way. Both of you."

Tracey followed Theo back to the bedroom. The singing had started up again.

"Theo! Get your pants back on!"

"You said you didn't want me playing in them!"

"Oh dear," grimaced Manny. "One of those days."

"Another mother might have her boy taken from her today. No more of those days."

"Another family has already had their daughter taken from them forever," shrugged Manny. "There aren't any winners, James."

"Exactly," said James. "So what's the point in creating more losers, knowing what we know?"

***

With neither James nor Manny having arrived in time, Archie was taken breakfast to eat by himself in his little room, next to a potty full of urine and a turd. James bristled with anger as he saw it, but pushed the fury down through his chest into his stomach. He didn't feel much like eating anyway. The butterflies could survive on bread, oil, and beetroot juice until it was all over this afternoon.

"Let me get that for you, Arch," James tutted, carrying the potty away. Archie nodded quietly, gnawing on some bread of his own. "Back in a sec, mate."

Archie was done eating by the time James returned. He didn't look at James while the man waited in the doorway, setting the empty potty down on the floor.

"I'll bet you need a wash, Arch," said James. "Come on, I'll take you."

Archie followed James silently to the bathroom. He looked a little surprised when James went to close the door without having stepped through it himself.

"Finish your business," said James, softly. "You haven't had the chance to wipe, have you? Come back and open the door when you're done."

Archie did as he was told. When the door reopened, James sent him to stand to one side while he prepared the water, soap, and cloth. Archie undressed without being instructed. James passed him the dampened, lathered cloth and water jug.

"Sort yourself out, then. I'll sit over here and wait."

James put down the lid of the toilet seat. It was made of the old-fashioned thick black plastic, which remained cold to the skin regardless of the weather, just to offend the toilet user. Archie turned his back to James and awkwardly got on with washing himself.

"You're quiet this morning, Arch," said James. Archie's back shrugged. "Everything alright, Archie?"

"You never came to see me after I told you the truth," Archie mumbled, glumly. "You don't like us any more now you know what I did."

"Oh, Archie, I'm sorry," said James. "I went away to my old house for a night and a day. I wasn't ignoring you. I just wasn't in Durham, is all."

"Nobody came to see us yesterday," grumbled Archie. "Not Manny neither. Just people bringing me my food and water. They didn't even let me out to do a shit."

"I am sorry, Archie, really. That shouldn't have happened, and it won't happen again, I promise."

"I even started writing – you know, about what happened – and they took that off me."

"Why?" said James, annoyance registering in his voice.

"Said I shouldn't've had it," shrugged Archie.

"Whoever said that was wrong," said James. "I won't let them treat you that way again, Archie, promise."

"Nobody cares about me cos you told them all that I hurt Angelika," he pouted.

"The only person I told was Manny," said James. "Straight away, after you told me. Nobody else has heard the truth yet."

Archie squatted down and rubbed the wet, soapy flannel between his legs and up inside his crack, evidently still smarting from having to sit unwiped for god-knows-how-long. He stood up and threw the flannel pointedly to the floor. "Where's the towel?" he growled.

"Please cheer up, Archie," said James. "You know there's going to be a meeting all about you today?"

"Yeah," said Archie, still casting around for a towel. James picked one up from a rack next to him and threw it to Archie. He didn't see it coming and it pooled around his feet. He bent to pick it up, wincing ever so slightly as his bottom opened up. "They told me I'd be locked up like this forever, cos they all say I killed Angelika on purpose."

"Who said that?" asked James.

"That Rob bloke, the wanker," said Archie. "He was the one who said I couldn't get out to do a shit, too."

"He was told not to come near you!" growled James.

"Aye, well he did, cos he's a wanker."

"You have to stop swearing, Archie. You're only ten."

"It don't matter anymore," Archie whined. James could hear the wobble of his bottom lip in his voice.

"Come here, stinker," said James. "Let me talk to you properly."

Archie toddled over to James, the large bath towel wrapped around him like a strapless dress. James opened his arms. Archie melted into them, his towel-clad bum resting on James' inner thigh. He sobbed into James' chest. James cuddled the damp boy to him, rubbing his back through the towel, part drying him off, part soothing him.

"I promise you I'm going to that meeting today and I'm going to fight with everything I can to get the truth out and you home to your mom and sister, okay?"

Archie sucked back snot and nodded his head into James' chest.

"You're not going to be locked up forever, whatever anyone says," said James, as calmly as he could for someone consumed by fire from head to toe. "You're going home."

"But if you tell them how I hurt Angelika, won't they still want to punish me?" sobbed Archie. "Won't they still put me away where nobody can see me?"

"No, Archie. I won't let them. One way or another, I'm going to see justice done. You mark my words, matey. You mark my words."

***

The cathedral seemed much cooler than it should've been, with a hundred people milling around in the area at the front of the pews, voices echoing off the stone walls and great ceilings. James was beckoned by Freya MacKenzie to a raised area in front of the quire, somewhere deep beneath the great, cuboidal central tower. He had dressed in his father's suit in his office, and was already coating it liberally in sweat, trying to control the quaking in his arms and fidgeting in his legs and feet.

"Thanks again, James," Kenzie said warmly, offering him a cushioned seat facing the assembling crowd. "This will all be over today, and we can move on and forget about it."

James watched Angelika Wojnowski's pale-looking, jittery parents being led into position on the far right of the front pew, as James looked at it. They didn't seem in any mood to forget what had happened quickly. Kenzie took up a position behind an old wooden lectern and watched the citizens assemble noisily in the pews. Occasionally, inappropriately loud laughter would break out and echo off the stone all around, as friends and acquaintances greeted each other. Kenzie maintained an impenetrable, thin-lipped smile through it all. She may have been nice to him on Tuesday, he thought, but he was right to have her card marked the way he had before. Manny appeared, moving quickly though a side door from the cloisters. James didn't realise until he had sat her down at the far left corner of the front pew, from James' perspective, that he'd been shielding Harmonie Stephens all the way. She looked as if she'd been up half the night, puking her guts up. She was almost translucent; she seemed ready to keel over at any second. A second woman had appeared from the cloisters and taken up a seat next to Harmonie, gripping her hand tightly. It was Tracey. James felt his stomach groan and turn again, and his armpits and back dump another bucket of sweat into his dad's shirt. Manny was somehow sat beside him on the stage. The rest of the council had taken up places in the middle of the front pew, either side of the aisle. Everything was set. The dusty air cloyed at James' throat. At the lectern, Kenzie cleared hers. At the back of the room, someone banged something three times, calling the assembly to session. The talking dropped in an instant, and the last of the stragglers took up seats. Kenzie opened her mouth.

"Thank you, citizens of Durham, for assembling here today. This morning we are gathered to hear the case against one of our number, Archie Stephens, in relation to the killing of another of our number, Angelika Wojnowski. Sheriff Emmanuel Addo has accumulated the evidence and will state the council's case. City Recorder James Martin will then outline his recommendations for judgement in the case, based on the evidence gathered, assessments of the individuals concerned, and the principles of justice, security, and fraternity on which this city was established. May justice be served, my brothers and sisters. Emmanuel Addo."

Manny stood and took Kenzie's place at the lectern. She, in turn, sat in Manny's place beside James. Tracey caught Manny's eye and gave him a little nod. She was practically holding Harmonie Stephens up. Manny cleared his throat and began.

"I am Emmanuel Kwame Addo, son of David Akwasi Addo and Evie-Marie Roberts, Sheriff of the City of Durham. I have been asked to investigate and determine the facts of the case against Archie Stephens in relation to the killing of Angelika Wojnowski. In the interests of timekeeping and out of respect to the families, I will keep the details brief and the case to the point. Here follow the details of the case."

"Why do they keep saying killing?" James heard Angelika's mother hiss to the uncle; her brother. "It were a murder!"

"On the afternoon of Monday 5^th July, Angelika Wojnowski was found deceased on the banks of the river, not far below this very cathedral. She had suffered drowning, had wounds to the back of her head, a broken nose, and bruising to her face. She was eight years old."

The room was silent. Angelika's father, Adam, was cradling his partner to him while she sobbed quietly at hearing her daughter's final condition so bluntly described. On searching the back of his mind, James thought she was called Tina. Tina Gould.

"Also on the afternoon of Monday 5^th July, Archie Stephens, a ten-year-old boy, was found upriver from the site of Angelika's body. He had suffered scratching and bruising, and his clothing was covered in mud and blood consistent with having been in close contact with Angelika's body. He was taken to the castle for questioning as the only suspect in the case, and the clothes he was wearing on the day were taken as evidence."

James cast a glance at Harmonie, but she barely seemed present. She seemed to be looking on in a catatonic state. As he let his gaze sweep back across the gathered crowd, he caught Aaron's eye, somewhere towards the aisle in a middle pew, just on the right as he looked at it. The boy acknowledged him with an awkward flick of the mouth and an almost imperceptible nod. He was evidently considered old enough to take part. James wondered whether, under different circumstances, with a different matter at hand, Archie would have been considered old enough to be here. Angelika certainly wouldn't have. Then he thought of Theo, blissfully unaware, playing with other little boys and girls somewhere in the cloisters. My daddy saw a dead fox yesterday. It tried to bite the horsies but the horsies kicked it away, and then it died. Want to build a big tower with me? James had to stop himself from smiling on stage. Another awful thought did the trick. Archie sat alone in a little room in the castle, waiting terrified of being locked up and humiliated for the rest of his life.

"Throughout days of investigation of the scene of the event, objects taken from the scene, the injuries to the children, and the testimony of concerned individuals, the following conclusion was reached. Archie Stephens confessed to having fought with Angelika Wojnowski, though he claims he was not the initiator but reacting to Angelika's rough play with him."

"Liar!" Adam grunted. Kenzie looked at him sternly and his gaze dropped to his lap, where he held Tina's hand.

"There was childish arguing and name-calling. Archie alleges that Angelika stamped on his testes and kicked him in the chest. Since an intimate examination of the boy was considered unnecessarily invasive, we cannot corroborate the former claim, but Archie displays bruising to his shoulder and chest consistent with at least one kick. He also claims that Angelika stole and broke a wooden toy boat of huge sentimental value to his family. A boat matching the description and with damage consistent with Archie's account was recovered from the scene."

"Lies!" bellowed Adam, looking as if he was going to get to his feet had he not been prevented by Tina lying against him, sobbing. He cried tears of rage. "Lies! All of it! He's a little liar, that boy, that… thing!"

"Quiet while the sheriff presents the evidence," Kenzie ordered curtly. Adam leant back into his partner as they cried together.

"What clearly followed from the evidence of the scene was a fight between the two children. Archie admits striking Angelika in the face, twice. The balance of evidence from the scene suggests that Archie is being truthful when he claims that Angelika was stunned by the blows and stumbled backwards down a raised, slippery section of bank, headfirst into the river where she struck the back of her head under the water."

"So he killed her!" growled Tina. "He killed my baby!"

"The evidence suggests that there is little chance Archie could deliberately have pushed Angelika into the water at that distance. It also suggests there is no way a boy of Archie's size and with Archie's reach could have prevented Angelika from getting out of the river of her own accord from that position had she not been injured and unresponsive."

"No!" rocked Tina. "No, no, no, no!" Adam shook with fury. His entire body had turned rosy.

"Finally, the positioning of Angelika's body, further upriver at a shallower, stonier section of bank, can only have been accomplished by Archie Stephens. He made a concerted effort to retrieve Angelika from the river, though the evidence cannot conclusively corroborate his claim that he tried to save her."

"Course he didn't," hissed Adam. "He killed her. He killed her."

"Given the circumstances and the evidence before me, I find that even in the most severe case the worst charge that the Council of the City of Durham can level at Archie Stephens is manslaughter. Full written versions of the evidence held by the Office of Sheriff can be made available on request. That's all."

Manny made to sit down without a second look at the crowd in front of him, nearly sitting on top of Kenzie as she realised she needed to scuttle back to the lectern. The room seemed to take a collective intake of breath. Quiet murmuring became loud chatter. There was clattering on the front pew.

"Disgrace!" cried Adam Wojnowski, leaping to his feet so forcefully he almost sent Tina sprawling to the floor in front of him. "It was a murder! He's a murderer! Archie Stephens is a murderer!"

Tears streamed down Harmonie's face, utterly silently. She wept and shivered against Tracey's shoulder. Manny squeezed James' thigh as he steeled himself for action.

"Give it to 'em," said Manny. "Give it all you've got."

"Quiet!" shouted Kenzie, looking flustered at the podium. Three loud bangs thudded out again from the back of the room. "The evidence of the case has been presented. I now call City Recorder James Martin to offer his judgement."

James stumbled a little unsteadily into place at the lectern, Kenzie taking his place next to Manny. Tracey took a deep breath and offered him a look of fortitude. James also caught the eye of Adam Wojnowski, as he ever so slowly lowered himself back into the pew. Adam's was a look of prickly, unguarded hatred.

"Hello," said James, by way of a throat-clearer. The room stared at him. He felt like he'd just heard the voice of a terse twelve-year-old escape his lips, annoyed at being disturbed while in the middle of something. It would have to do. "My name is James Martin. I am the Recorder of the City of Durham and I stand before you to offer my recommended judgement on how the city should respond to this tragic loss of life in an incident between two very young children."

James swallowed. So far, so good. Nothing had been thrown at him. His stomach clenched and unclenched. He was lightheaded. He was so weightless and free that he almost felt he could say anything. The consequences had almost faded into obsolescence, like the tableaux of the stained-glass windows.

"You have heard the address of my brother, Emmanuel, whom I love dearly. I have nothing but respect for him. He is honest, thorough, and tirelessly conscientious in his work. Not only that, he is a highly emotionally intelligent, sweet, and loving man. He has been an unwavering rock in my life for over twenty years, since we were both little boys. So, it is with these caveats, and with this utmost respect, that I must put to my fellow citizens that the charge levelled by the sheriff is wrong."

Adam and Tina watched James with teary-eyed interest. Freya MacKenzie stared at Manny with panicked horror.

"My brother Manny has put forward a charge in the worst case of manslaughter. This charge is wrong. He knows it is wrong. He brings it forth simply because he knows it is the politically correct thing to do; that it will appease the most extreme views within this congregation today and, if upheld, allow the City Council to continue with business this afternoon as if nothing happened, without regard to the needs of two traumatised families and the lessons that can be learned from this incident. How do we define manslaughter? I have here with me a copy of the definition provided by the Statutes of Criminal Offences of the City of Durham."

James unfolded a piece of paper from the inside pocket of his dad's jacket and placed it on the lectern. Harmonie continued to stream silent tears. Tina heaved against Adam; eyes dry. He looked confused, but angry. Kenzie hissed to Manny, wild-eyed: "What the hell is he playing at up there?" Manny pawed the air in front of Kenzie's seat as if to tell her to shut up. He watched James from the edge of his seat.

"Manslaughter refers to the unlawful killing of another following the intention to do substantial harm but not to kill outright, or through criminal levels of recklessness or negligence. I ask you, assembled citizens, my fellow council members, Sheriff Addo and Chief MacKenzie, can a fistfight between an eight- and ten-year-old be considered the intention to do substantial harm? Can a prepubescent child engaged in a fight with another child be considered criminally responsible for recklessness or negligence? Indeed, can we consider a vulnerable ten-year-old capable of being held to criminal responsibility at all? My argument is that we cannot, and should not, if we wish to reflect the ideals we claim to espouse."

James self-consciously picked up a flicker of the accent he had absorbed from Jake, in his emphasis of the ow sound in espouse. It gave him cue to pause. Freya had gone grey. There was a rumble of chatter throughout the assembly. Adam looked ready to spring to his feet and storm the podium, but Tina's brother – Marcus – was holding him down firmly by one shoulder from the pew behind, face like thunder.

"Archie Stephens has had a tough life in his ten years on this Earth. Until the age of six, he suffered sustained mental and physical abuse at the hands of a gang of men; witnessed the sustained mental and physical abuse of other, younger children at the hands of those men; witnessed, at close quarters, the sustained mental, physical, and sexual abuse of his mother and other women at the hands of those men."

Harmonie shuddered in her pew. Tracey tried to cradle her, but Harmonie refused. She bundled up her legs to her chest and rocked back and forth in the wooden seat. James' mind stumbled over images of his green office armchair.

"When little Archie tried to resist his treatment at the hands of those men, he was kicked so hard that he suffered broken ribs. Is it any wonder that a child subjected to such brutality would react explosively to being treated similarly by another child?"

Adam Wojnowski howled with rage, his fingernails digging into his palms. Tina slammed her hand against the back of the pew, the thud reverberating off every stone pillar. Still James went on. Perversely, he was beginning to enjoy himself.

"Archie and his family have been the victims of further sustained abuse since fleeing their captors for our fraternal city," said James, confidence and passion growing with every syllable. "In this instance, vile bullying on account of their origins. Apparently, victims of abuse akin to slavery are seen by some in this room as less worthy than their other friends and neighbours in this city. How can we have allowed such a situation – such a cancer – to develop in our midst? And yet, despite all this, in my week of interviews with Archie, I have found him a remarkably well-adjusted child, adoring and protective of his baby sister, capable of great empathy with others, with a remarkable loving and kind streak towards animals in particular. He is a youngster who is full of remorse for the tragedy that occurred on Monday afternoon, and riddled with terror about what sort of future awaits a boy who has already spent the great majority of his life as an outcast. I put it to all of you that, whatever physical violence Archie may have been guilty of on Monday, Angelika Wojnowski was equally guilty of subjecting Archie to emotional and physical violence. It is a great tragedy that an accident occurred in which she ultimately lost her life, but that is what it was: an accident. Archie has in fact shown incredible character in bravery to be able to speak to me so candidly about his life and the events of Monday afternoon…"

"He's in love with the boy!" bellowed Adam, leaping to his feet and kicking the pew explosively. "The little snake's charmed him! He believes every word he's been told! And it's lies, all of it!"

"Calm down!" Mary Stanley had risen to her feet, her stocky, busty form emerging from the pew behind Tracey like a bushy fir tree. "Let the man speak; he's just doing his job, putting his case forward. It don't mean everyone else has to accept it."

"I'm fucking sick of being told to be quiet and let this bleeding-hearted bastard get on with his job," cried Adam, lashing out again at the pew. "He hasn't spoken to us once! None of them have! It's all him, him, him! Archie, Archie, Archie! Nobody has stood up for wor Angelika! Nobody has took our side of the story! It's a fucking fix, man! It's a disgrace! He wants stringing up with that sick little boyfriend of his!"

Harmonie was now sobbing into Tracey's armpit. Tina had her head in her hands. Manny bobbed in his chair as if to speak, but it was the calm, reduced tones of Dan Turner's voice from the pew behind Adam that cut through first.

"Adam, man, I think we could do with toning down the language a smidge, don't you? I've already had a word or three with you about this respect business, y'knaa what I mean? Haway, sit yoursen down, man, before you get kicked oot. That'd not be doing your Angelika any good now, would it?"

Adam complied. He slapped the wood of the pew again as he sat down, forehead in one hand, shaking his head back and forth. His legs trembled.

"Since this is obviously a difficult time for everyone, I'll get on to my recommendations," said James, voice quaking. "I commend to the council to discharge Archie Stephens to the care of his mother, with no criminal responsibility for the tragic accident that transpired on Monday, on account of his tender age and the circumstances. We must ask ourselves what kind of city and community we want to be; whether we want to look to the future and build our resources, or seek retribution for the perceived misdeeds of the past, based on shallow thinking and the narrow-minded biases that each of us are prisoners to. Are we a community that wants to criminalise ten-year-old children for heated fisticuffs? Because that is exactly what a charge against Archie Stephens represents. Furthermore, I would propose that the Stephens family be moved into the castle for an indefinite period, for their own protection and so each of them can receive the support and therapy they so evidently need. There are plenty of manuals on talking therapy stored at the university library, and I for one would be willing to volunteer to develop my skills and assist in that field…"

"You've got to be fucking kidding me!" shouted Rob, with a drilling sneer. He'd stood and pulled into the aisle on the far right side of the pews. "What a fucking crock of shite, man. This what happens when you let a fucking faggot do a man's job! It's an outrage, man! The kid's a murderer, plain and simple!"

"Oi!" shot Tracey's voice across the room. She'd stood from her pew, almost dragging the boneless Harmonie with her. "You'd better watch yourself, you ugly, big-nosed bastard! You don't stand in front of everyone and use language like that. Learn some respect, you silly little man!"

"He's right!" bellowed a red-faced, heavyset, middle-aged man from the back. "Bliddy queers, man! Get the homo of the stage!"

The room rumbled with a wave of intense, sharp chatter; bickering back and forth. Voices were raised. James caught the words homo, faggot – even nonce – reverberating around the room. Rob leaned with his arms folded against the frontmost stone pillar on the right, grinning with self-satisfaction. Manny glared at him like he was trying to set the man on fire. Kenzie looked shell-shocked at the pandemonium. She was frozen to her chair.

"Hadaway!" bellowed Dan, over the noise. "Hush now! Let's show each other some respect! We're embarrassing ourselves!" He turned and scowled at Rob. "Sit down, man. You're the biggest embarrassment of the lot. Not even got owt to do with you, you bliddy soft-headed wazzock."

Rob drifted noiselessly back behind the pillars, apparently re-finding a seat. James, ashen faced, turned back to the crowd.

"Should the council choose to return a charge of manslaughter," he said quickly, "my recommendations are as follows: Archie Stephens to be confined in the castle with regular contact from his mother and sister, for an initial period of three years until he turns thirteen. He should receive daily vocational training from castle staff in order to build his skillset and confidence for a successful reintegration into the community. On his thirteenth birthday, the council is to decide whether Archie should be released to his mother or held for longer within the castle, subject to the same regime and restrictions, up and until the maximum age of eighteen." James looked out at a point far beyond the gathered city folk, somewhere in the Galilee Chapel, glassy-eyed. His voice quivered. "However, given the strength of feeling in the room, and the message such a decision would send out from the council, I see no alternative but to offer my immediate resignation should such a verdict come to pass. Thank you."

James hopped from the lectern and jogged off towards the Shrine of St Cuthbert, feeling sick to the tips of his toes. His knees didn't want to work, and his ankles argued with his feet. His dad's suit felt utterly drenched with sweat. Manny started after him, leaving Freya MacKenzie alone and jittery on the raised stage before the citizenry. Voices were rising, echoing around the cathedral again.

"This concludes the address," stumbled Kenzie, only semi-coherently. "The council will now adjourn to the Chapter House to make its final decision. The verdict will be announced immediately after. Goodbye."

***

James was the last one into the Chapter House. Kenzie had rounded on him almost before the door was closed behind him.

"What the fuck was all that about?" she demanded. "Were you trying to start a riot out there?"

"You told me I was free to do things my way without interference," James replied acidly. "You told me you supported me as the right man for the job. You told me I was clever and the person the council trusted to make a judgement. I don't get what more you want from me."

"When I told you I had your back, I didn't mean you could use me as a fucking human shield!" roared Kenzie. "Fuck, James! You've really taken a torch to this one, haven't you? Do you want to go and spit on the dead girl's grave while you're at it?"

"She has a name," growled James.

"Back off him, Kenzie!" Manny interjected, pushing his way in front of James. "I was the one in charge of working out the facts of the case, and I was the one who decided on a worst case of manslaughter. That's on me. All James did was make a case for best steps forward, based on talking to the kid involved and his experience of working with youngsters, just like you asked him to. You're well out of order, dumping all the pressure on James!"

"Sit down, Manny," grunted Kenzie. "You're like a horny bulldog when you get going. You'll give yourself a hernia."

"Alright, alright!" shouted Amrit. "Let's all remember why we're here and calm things down a little, okay? James made his proposals – as he was asked to do – and they aren't totally without merit, so let's sit down and discuss them like adults, rather than bickering like children. I seem to remember James making the point that childish bickering is the whole reason we've ended up in this position."

Kenzie and Manny took seats around the table opposite from each other and continued a glaring match across the wooden barrier between them. Georgia, Harvey, Ruairidh and Saffron had all already taken their seats. James remained aloof, stood to one side of the room, barely watching proceedings.

"So," said Amrit. "Chief Freya MacKenzie."

"Right," Kenzie sighed pointedly. "Manny moves for a charge of manslaughter–"

"Manny moves for a worst-case scenario of manslaughter," corrected Manny, gruffly.

"Okay then. My apologies." Kenzie rolled her eyes. "Manny moves for a worst case of manslaughter; James moves that the boy be treated as a victim as he's too young and vulnerable to be culpable for manslaughter. Who do we support?"

"Well, I thought James had a point, like," suggested Harvey. "Who are we if we're ganning around locking up kids like that?"

"Good point, well made," nodded Manny.

"Vital input there, Emmanuel," Kenzie grunted in response.

"Well, I don't see why this kid should be our problem," said Saffron. "He wasn't born here. The whole thing is just a headache. Send the family back where they came from. Banishment. Simples."

"Sending that family back where they came from – or anywhere out there on their own – is a probable death sentence for all of them, and you know it!" barked James.

"Since when did we start caring who was born here or not?" said Manny. "Hands up everyone here who was born in this city. Come on. I'm waiting."

Nobody raised their hands. Saffron folded her arms. Kenzie rested her forehead on her fist and closed her eyes, looking increasingly like she'd rather be anywhere else on Earth than there in the Chapter House.

"Who was born within half a day's walk of this city?" suggested Manny, sticking his bottom lip out and raising his arms in a shrug. Saffron raised her hand. James and Harvey also raised theirs.

"Well, I don't see what difference that makes," huffed Saffron.

"Exactly," said Georgia. "It makes no difference, does it?"

"If you wanna start slinging people out who worn't born up here, I'll be the first to go," said Manny, exaggerating his accent to the extreme. "I'm from Birmingham, bab."

"Argh, shut up, man!" whined Ruairidh. "I cannit deal with this one bit!"

James had been pacing around the side of the room. He slammed his palms down on his hips.

"Right, I'm recusing myself. There's no point in me being here, is there? I'm too close to the case. And I agree with Ruairidh: I can't deal with a second more of this either."

James stormed quickly from the room.

"James!" Georgia called after him, notes of concern in her voice.

"Can we all just calm down?" said Amrit. "Take the heat out of things; it isn't helping."

"James!" called Manny, sticking his head out of the door into the cloisters. "Jamey! Where'd you go, man?"

"Shut the door, Manny," Kenzie sighed heavily.

"You know what, Chief?" cried Manny. "I fucking will close this door, and I'll be on the other side of it, going after my brother to make sure he doesn't do anything stupid thanks to the pressure you dumped on him; dumped on the both of us! I may as well recuse myself too, as I don't even want to defend my supposed motion. I think James is right. In fact, looking around this room now, I know he's right, but you're too goddamn craven to make a decision for yourself, aren't you Freya? Stand up and be counted! Show some fucking leadership! You had a room full of open homophobes and xenophobes out there, and what did you do? Sweet F.A. – that's what you did!" Manny slammed the door. He opened it again and stuck his head back into the Chapter House. "How's that for a hernia for you, Chief MacKenzie?"

***

Manny's thudding footsteps echoed around the cloisters as he went in search of James. He spotted Tracey on the far side, heading down to the old tourist cafeteria where the young children were being minded. He shouted across the echo chamber of the stone square.

"Trace! Trace! Have you seen James?"

"He just rushed into the cathedral and went for the tower stairs," she called back. "Is he alright? Manny?"

"I'm sure he's fine!" Manny replied, rushing off for the door back into the midst of the Norman cathedral. "I just need to speak to him!"

Manny rushed for the nearest spiral staircase, winding its way up through the uncannily enormous stone structure to the great square tower soaring over the rooftops. He charged through the heavy, wooden doorway, nearly knocking the dense pack of logs off its hinges. He hardly realised he was careening into the back of Rob Clifford.

"Hey! Watch it!" the deputy growled. "Oh, it's you, Manny."

"What the hell are you doing here?" Manny snapped. "Get back out into the cathedral with the others!"

"Or what?" smirked Rob. "Just checking the perimeter. Thought I saw we had an intruder rush off up here."

"You know full well who's up there," spat Manny, pressing Rob into the thin core of the spiral staircase. "And you're no deputy of mine. You're off duty. Forever!"

"You can't do that," sneered Rob. "I was already off duty. I've done nowt wrong. I was speaking as a private citizen in there."

"Really, Rob?" said Manny. "Were you also speaking as a private citizen when you were interfering with a case that didn't concern you? When you were threatening council officers? When you were terrorising a little boy trapped in a tiny room with you?"

"You've got nowt on me," said Rob. "And you know it. Everyone out there backs me. Everyone."

"I am this close to doing you for misconduct in a position of responsibility," hissed Manny, pressing his face into Rob's and holding his thumb and forefinger together in front of Rob's eyes. "This close. As a minimum. And that's sixty days confinement in the castle. As a minimum. What do you think Mia and the kids would make of that, eh? Oh right, you never thought of them, did you? Eh? Eh?"

Rob swallowed hard and hissed back at Manny. "Piss off, Manny, man. You're not gonna do owt. You wouldn't do that to one of your own."

"You are not my own," grunted Manny, his forehead pushed against Rob's, pinning his head back against the stone staircase. "You are lucky I'm not battering you, right here, right now, and claiming it was self-defence! And who are they gonna believe, after your little display out there? But no, I won't do that, because I'm better than that. I was taught better than that. Taught to be better than the likes of you!"

Manny threw Rob out of his way, watching him clatter into the side wall of the stairway.

"Haway, Manny. You don't want to do owt either of us'll regret."

"Get out of my sight!" said Manny. "I don't even ever want you to so much as acknowledge me again, you pathetic, ugly-souled little man!"

Rob bundled himself out of the staircase doorway. Manny watched him go, bowed his head, and sprinted off up the ever-circling staircase like his life depended upon it.

James heard and felt the thudding of Manny approaching. He heard the pinging of the echo all about the staircase. He ignored it, and looked out at the landscape, his view unbroken for miles and miles around. He traced the river with his finger as if it was a length of string. He saluted the hills and admired their colours. The height and the purity of the breeze were exhilarating. Life below was of little consequence up here.

"There… you… are!" said Manny, panting hard. "I… rec… used… myself… too! Gave… Kenzie… a… right… earful!"

James said nothing. He let Manny recover. He felt Manny's eyes on him, but he didn't turn to meet them. "Look, there's a red kite circling over there," James said eventually.

"I just saw Rob," Manny said sheepishly to James' back. "He won't be doing any work for the sheriff's office again. I was this close to one-bombing him, I swear."

"I am the resurrection and I am the life," quoted James, gazing aimlessly from the glassless tower windows. "I couldn't even bring myself to hate him as I'd like."

"Nobody would blame you," said Manny. "I certainly wouldn't."

James looked out to the south across the sunny city, a satisfying breeze playing across his face at this height. He could see birds circling around, flitting amongst the treetops, all from above.

"I don't know how I can live in this place anymore," sighed James.

"You can't let idiots like Rob drive you away," said Manny, leaning up behind James and placing a warm hand on his shoulder. "There are plenty of people that love and respect you around here. Not least me, and Tracey, and Theo."

"It's not just Rob, though, is it?" said James. "It's all of this – the petty politics. Jake was right. I've made myself a target."

"You stood up for what you believe in, despite all the nastiness, and the threats," said Manny. "Whatever else Jake might have thought of it, he'd be so, so proud of you. You know how I know that, hm?"

"How?" humoured James.

"Because I am!" said Manny. "If Tracey hadn't been there, I would've been hard just watching you go at it like that!"

"Shut up!" laughed James, pushing back at Manny. "I'm glad you've been here for me. I don't know what I'd ever have done if I didn't have you; my whole life."

"If I hadn't found you, I probably wouldn't have a life right now," smiled Manny. "Come here, you big softy! We'll always be there for each other, forever!"

James leaned back into Manny as he wrapped his arms around him. He looked out of the tower, to the south, feeling as if Manny was catching him as he soared and dived weightlessly through the air, falling fast but never quite reaching the ground. There was movement on the South Road. Two people approaching. James almost felt as if he was looking back in time; a man and a boy, dressed for a long journey. He realised it must be his imagination, and he leaned back into Manny's embrace more, resting his head back on Manny's shoulder and looking happily into his face. Manny grinned at him and spun them both around.

"Let's get back downstairs," he said. "You never know when they'll be ready to announce their call."

***

They set out on a dry, crisp day in early March. By the second day, they had reached a village on a river, deep in the shadow of huge cooling towers; grey elephants on the flat, marshy landscape. They set up camp in the old village church, and Jake allowed the boys to wander off down to the riverbank, calling after them to wash their hands, faces, and feet before they came back. They sat together on the riverbank, watching the still-hamstrung spring sun dip glacially below the horizon, the towers casting a longer, darker shadow with each passing minute.

"What is that," said Manny, leaning his shoulder into James and pointing at the towers.

"Jake said it was a cloud factory," said James.

"Cloud factory?" Manny replied.

"I think they used to make electricity in cloud factories," said James. "Maybe Jake will tell us when we get back."

"We'll stay here a bit longer, though? Just you and me?"

"Yeah," smiled James. "Anyway, we haven't washed yet. I don't want Jake to be upset with us."

"I like Jake," said Manny, swinging a hand idly through the long grass and craning his neck to squint up at the towers. "He's nice."

"He's my favourite person in the world," said James, pursing his lips and blinking, hoping Manny was too distracted to notice that saying so had made him well up. "But you're one of my favourites too, now."

"Thanks!" said Manny, turning to look at James and smiling. "James, do you think we'll be friends forever?"

Not knowing exactly why, but feeling butterflies explode through his chest as he did, James took Manny's hand in his, and grinned right back into his face.

"I hope so," he said. "I hope so."

Manny giggled and swung James' hand back and forth. Light had almost totally given way to shadow, but in a few hours the sun would rise again.

"Hey," said Manny, smirking and talking in a low voice. "Dare you to have a full bath in the river!"

"I dare you!" replied James, wobbly grin rippling across his face.

"Will if you will!"

"Okay, we both do it then! Get undressed!"

The boys stood naked by the waterside, shivering out of their skins. James took Manny's hand again.

"Three!" chanted James.

"Two!" replied Manny.

"One!" they shouted together. "Go!"

Jake arrived at the crest of the bank just in time to hear the big splash, and the squealing and laughing of both boys. He shook his head, smiled to himself, and turned back to the church unseen.

***

Dear Freya,

It is with regret that, following the outcome of today's meeting, I feel I must resign my council position as City Recorder.

It has been a great pleasure over the past few years to work as part of the council and help steer the city towards a healthier, happier future. However, today's ruling makes the distance between my vision of the ethos of this city and its future trajectory, and that of the rest of the committee, abundantly clear. My position on the council is therefore untenable from this moment forward.

I am happy to continue to exercise my duties as City Recorder, in relation to keeping a log of events and performing secretarial and clerical duties for the council, until such time that a replacement is nominated and elected. However, I suggest it would be inappropriate for me to continue to exercise any decision-making role in the interim. I am also happy to continue my separate but related duties as an advanced tutor to the inspirational young people of our city. Those younger generations are of course our future.

It is a great shame that such a tragedy has been allowed to divide our city, but an even greater shame that hidden division and hostility happening under the nose of this council allowed the space for this tragedy to have occurred. I wish you all the very best of luck in the future with the healing process from the shocking events of the past week.

With greatest respect,

James M.

***

The room had reconvened. It had the tense, static atmosphere of a hilltop before a storm. Energy spiralled around the room, palpable and visible as sitting in a snow globe. James had retaken his seat, barely able to watch or listen as Kenzie marched to the lectern, her every movement a gesture of frustrated fury. He felt he might vomit at every moment. He placed his head in his hand, pushing his dampened, cow-licked hair up out of the way. His eyes remained wide open, studying the dimmed palms of his hands. He didn't dare close them, lest he be haunted by visions of Archie locked up in his room, caught between the terror of the expected and the unknown. Manny put his arm around James' shoulders. Kenzie cleared her throat. Three bangs.

"The council has reached a decision," she announced, sounding hoarse. James could hear his pulse in his eardrums. His penis felt like it had withdrawn into his body. His toes curled.

"The council upholds the central argument of James Martin's address, that a ten-year-old child cannot be culpable of manslaughter."

There was a collective gasp. Manny rubbed James' shoulders and gripped his neck. James stared into his fingers. This couldn't be real. It was too good to be true.

"No!" came the cry from Adam Wojnowski. "No! No! No!"

"Thieves!" cried Tina. "You've stolen justice from our girl! Where's our justice?"

"It's a travesty!" her brother bellowed. "A disgrace! Shame on the lot of yous! Shame!"

"This is why the council moves the lesser charge of assault against Archie Stephens and sentences him to a year of confinement in the castle, under the terms of confinement outlined by James Martin."

"Not good enough!" shouted Adam. "Nowhere near good enough! The boy's a murderer! He murdered our girl! He murdered her!"

James' heart sank beneath his navel. Every part of his body shrunk and curled again. Manny's hand was still on the base of the back of James' neck, and gave it another loving squeeze. James wanted to cry. He didn't know how he was going to be able to face Archie and break him the news. That's assuming he was the one who got there first.

"The boy will participate in training during weekdays. He will be allowed supervised visits from his family at weekends, once per weekend. He will also be subject to a strict disciplinary regime, with punishments including regular spanking for insubordination, laziness, and poor hygiene."

"You can't spank him," whimpered James. "That's part of how he was abused before."

"The council's decision is final," said Kenzie, flatly. "If the boy's family disagree with the decision, they are free to remove him from the city when he is released from our custody following his punishment." Kenzie broke from the platform to look directly at James with narrowed eyes. She hissed at him. "Why have you left a child's poem on the lectern?"

James broke down in tears on the stage, head still buried in his hands. Manny held him close, but he could do nothing to stem the flow. The Wojnowskis howled and hollered, but their words were lost to James. He sat, on the stage, at the base of a very, deep pit. The whole world was muffled.

"James," Manny was saying, "James, come on mate. Up you get. We've got to go. We've got to break the news to Archie before anyone else does."

James was barely aware of being hauled up under Manny's strong right arm and led stumbling from the cathedral out into the sunlight of Palace Green. Tina Wojnowski – Tina Gould – was waiting for them.

"Look at you!" she spat. "Pathetic! You get that little animal off the hook and you still cry that he has to do his time out for smacking our daughter about! You're a disgrace!"

"Leave him alone," said Manny. "I'm very sorry for your loss, but you can see how upset he is. And it doesn't excuse Adam's bigotry."

"Oh, don't think you've heard the last of it from him!" Tina's brother chipped in. "You're lucky he's shot off down The Shakespeare, to angry to bliddy speak! He's not gonna rest until you all pay for what you've done, the lot of yous! Defending that monster… making wor Angelika out to be some sort of little witch… despicable! Look at the crocodile tears from this big girl's blouse!"

"No, Marc," quivered Tina. "This one – this one I pity. He'll never have a child. He'll never know the pain of losing your baby like that. Having her taken away in cold blood by some perverted little freak. You, though…" she looked Manny up and down with abject disgust, mouth contorted. "You've got a missus. You've got a little lad of your own. You understand exactly what it's like. And yet you still won't call that little demon a murderer? Nah. You're the worst of the lot. And I hope and pray to God nothing happens to that happy little lad of yours. I really do."

"Is that a threat?" blistered Manny.

"Don't be so daft," Tina grunted. "There's only one child killer around here, and he's safely locked up in that castle, at least for the next few months of his sorry, pitiful existence."

James' mind wanted to shout and swear and scream at Tina, despite knowing she was a bereaved mother, despite knowing it would only make him look worse, but his body simply didn't have the power. He just swooned under Manny's arm.

"Besides," added Marcus, acidly. "We can't control accidents now, can we? You just said yourself that the little shit in that castle couldn't."

"I can't listen to any more of this," said Manny, shaking his head. "You're both going to feel awful about this in the morning, if not before. C'mon James, let's get you inside."

"I doubt it, pet," said Tina.

"You know, you're right," said Manny, turning back to face Tina as he dragged James past her. "I don't know how it feels to lose a child, and I hope against hope I never, ever will. But I do know how it feels to lose people close to me. And I know how it feels to have had people taken in cold blood, by intent. Not a child; I was only a toddler myself. But what my Nana always taught me as a boy was that you're not free to live your own life until you can forgive. If you keep hating and raging, all you're doing is wasting energy standing still."

Tina looked at Manny dumbstruck for a few beats. Then she shook her head and rolled her eyes. "How dare you lecture me about loss. How dare you."

Manny shuddered and walked on, feeling the eyes of Tina and Marcus burrowing into his back as he went. James seemed to have regained control of his body, but Manny refused to let him go. He led him along in an embrace locked around his shoulders.

"It was big of you to tell them about your parents," said James. "Big and brave. I've never heard you mention that to anyone who isn't family."

"I understand their pain, I really do," sighed Manny. "And it feels wrong to criticise them. They lost their daughter barely five days ago. It's all so rushed and raw. It's been a real shitshow. But they have to understand, sooner or later, that they're not the only people ever to have felt pain. They can't use it as an excuse to keep on lashing out."

"I know what you mean," said James. "They're disgusting."

"I think that's a bit harsh, James. That's your own anger and pain talking."

"I'm not saying they brought it on themselves; I'd never say that. I just mean I don't like them much. I don't think I'd like them much under any circumstances."

"Fuck, James," said Manny. "They just threatened Theo. What the hell am I supposed to do?"

"We'll work it out," said James. "WWJD?"

"You're not suddenly finding religion, are you, James?"

"Not Jesus," said James. "Jake."

"There's another possibility, you know," chuckled Manny. "What will James do?"

"I wish I knew, Manny," said James. "I really wish I knew."

***

James let himself into Archie's room. Harmonie was nowhere to be seen. The boy had filled the potty again. The anxiety must've got the better of him.

"I've got some news, Arch," said James.

"It's bad news, isn't it," Archie sighed.

"You're going to have to stay here for another year," said James, tearing up. "I'm sorry, Archie. They charged you with assaulting Angelika, because you hit her."

"Well," squeaked Archie, his bottom lip wobbling and a tear dripping down his cheek from his eyelashes. "At least I did actually do that. At least they don't think I'm a killer."

"That's my boy," said James. "Very grown-up. And you'll have to be, for the next year, okay? They're going to make you work hard, learning new things, and you'll have to be a very good boy, right? We don't want to give them any reason to punish you more, do we?"

"Will I get so see me mam, and Bella?" Archie wailed, breaking into full-blown sobs.

"Once a week, Archie; on weekends."

"What about you, and Manny?" sobbed Archie. "You've been, like, my besties this week. You're the only people I like in this castle. Will I still get to see you?"

"I don't know Archie," said James, cuddling him close. "I really don't know."

Manny had been listening at the door. He was teary-eyed when James emerged with a dripping, reddened face. Manny reached out to gently hold James' hand and rub his knuckles.

"He really got to you, didn't he?"

"It's so unfair, Manny," said James. "It's all so unfair."

"I think the Wojnowskis are probably saying the same thing right now," said Manny. "Just louder."

"I suppose," said James, wiping his eyes with the crooks of his index fingers.

"Let's go back to mine," said Manny. "Tracey will have gone back there with Theo, assuming there hasn't been some crisis with Harmonie. That little whirlwind is bound to cheer you up."

"You want to go back and check on him, don't you?" said James.

"Well, that too," admitted Manny.

"That's okay," said James. "I want to as well."

They followed the staircase from the keep in silence, trotting through the Norman Chapel and emerging into the midday sunshine through doors recessed into the ground. As they mounted the few steps, they heard a familiar and unexpected name.

"Who here knows a Jacob Baker?"

They rushed into the centre of the courtyard. The teens manning the gate shrugged and pointed a short, scraggly-looking dark-haired man, mane and beard matted with patches of grey, towards James and Manny as the responsible adults in the courtyard. Behind the man, gripped around the wrist by a strong hand, came a dirty little boy. His clothes were full of tears and holes, as well as caked in grime. One of his flimsy sandals was held on by frayed, coarse, brown string. His golden-brown hair, the colour of a classic teddy bear's fur, was wild and stuck in clumps with filth.

"What the hell is this?" said Manny. "You look like you've been travelling for weeks!"

"Jacob Baker?" the man said, looking at Manny strangely and tugging the boy along behind him.

"No," said Manny. "No; not me."

"'Im then?" said the man, nodding his head at James. "Looks a more likely candidate, if you don't mind me saying so."

"Rude," tutted Manny.

"No!" said James. "Who are you? What's all this about?"

"Flamin' 'eck!" complained the man. "What's the matter with all the geezers around 'ere? Everyone's got the 'ump. Someone died or summink?"

James and Manny stared at the man.

"Oh… Sorry, lads. Forget I mentioned it. So, where's this Jacob Baker when he's at 'ome?"

"Who's asking?" said Manny. "And why?"

"Forgive me, gentlemen; I've failed to introduce myself," he held out his hand first to Manny, then James. "Luke Sbraglia. Putney. London. And I bring with me from there the property of a certain Jacob Baker."

"Too late," said Manny. "He died five years ago."

"Ah," grunted Luke. The boy looked wide-eyed at his side. James looked at him closely. His eyes were brown and round. He caught James looking. Something about the eye contact caused a flicker of discomfort in the pit of James' stomach. "No next of kin?"

"He was our dad, sort of," said Manny. "I suppose that makes us next of kin."

"T'riffic!" smiled Luke. "Which of you's the elder?"

"Me," shrugged James.

"Then I present to you the property of Jacob Baker," said Luke, pushing the little boy forward. "Sorry about the delay. This little one starts moaning if we try going anywhere too far, too fast. Plus, we ended up going to two different bloody places before we could track you down."

"I don't understand," said James. "What's the property I've inherited?"

"Well it's 'im, innit?" said Luke, with a gap-toothed grin. "'Ow much'll you gi' me for 'im?"

James looked again at the little boy. He realised why he'd been spooked by the eyes. The shape and colour were wrong, but the eyebrows and lashes were jarringly familiar. As was the button nose, a little dusting of freckles over the bridge hidden by a black, sticky stain. The high cheekbones and the rounded cheeks were right. The mouth was slightly familiar, though the boy looked as if his teeth were more bucked than they ought to be. The round face was almost there, too, though this boy's chin was rather too pointed. Not to mention his skin was a couple of shades too olive.

"What's your name?" James asked the boy.

"Elias," the boy replied quietly, looking at his sandaled feet.

"I need to know your full name," pressed James, rather more quickly and sternly than he'd intended. "I'm the recorder here. I need to record your arrival."

"Elias Giovanni Baker," the boy half-whispered, turning his ankles and wiggling his toes in his sandals.

"Your name is Elias Baker?" said James.

"That's what he said, Jay," said Manny, looking equally stunned.

"His poor mother and father both popped their clogs," sighed Luke, with a shake of the head. "Very sad, it is. I'd've flogged 'im straight on, like, but the boy says to me he knows 'ow to find his dad's uncle, so he says. Says this uncle Jacob's got deep pockets and'll pay to take 'im. So, 'ere we are. As the mythical uncle Jacob's son, the boy's yours if you want 'im. Provided you pay up, of course."

"How old are you, Elias?" asked James.

"Nine," Elias said.

"You're trying to sell me a nine-year-old boy?"

"Wha's a matter?" said Luke. "You don't think I'd spend the best part of a month trekking all the way up 'ere for nothin', do ya?"

"I'm not paying for him!" said James. "I'm not buying a child. Plus, I don't have anything to give you. He's family. We belong to him; not the other way around."

"You told me your family was rich!" snapped Luke, clouting Elias around the back of his head. "Brought me up north on this wild goose chase for nothing, you little swine!"

"Hey!" said James and Manny together. Manny grabbed for Elias' free arm. "Don't you hit him like that."

"Excuse me, gentlemen!" replied Luke. "The boy's my property. Unless you're willing to do a deal with me, we'll be on our way. Sure someone in this godforsaken corner of the planet will want to buy 'im."

"Wait," said James. "Just a second. You've got to let us… let us see him, first!"

"Yeah," said Manny. "Can't expect us to buy livestock without inspecting it first. What do you think we are? Simpletons?"

"Right," said Luke, rubbing his hands together. "Now we're talkin'! 'Ere, 'ave a good look, then."

He pushed Elias forward. James pulled the boy into a protective embrace, trying not to pay too much attention to his smell.

"Alright then," said Manny. "On your way. Fuck off."

"You what?" said Luke.

"Do one," said Manny.

"You ain't paid me yet for the boy!"

"Slavery is illegal in the City of Durham," said James. "As soon as you walked up the South Road, Elias Baker stopped being your possession."

"Who says?"

"The City Sheriff," said Manny.

"I don't see no sheriff," replied Luke. "Give me the boy back!"

"I'm the sheriff, you prat!" said Manny, drawing a surprised, strangled giggle from Elias. "Now get the hell out of here before I have to arrest you!"

"Come on," laughed Luke, tunelessly and mirthlessly. "Surely there's some arrangement I can come to with you two fine gentlemen, the last of the great Baker clan?"

"No," said James.

"Don't mess with the Baker boys," said Manny. "Lads! Close the gates!"

"Oh, fuck!" groaned Luke. He followed Manny's advice and did one, breaking into a sprint for the slowly closing gates. Elias leaned his head back to look up at James' face with wide-eyed surprise. James smiled back at him.

Manny didn't trust the teenagers to have the castle gates shut in time. He rushed off after Luke, easily catching him under the archway, and grabbing him by the waist.

"Fuck off, you onion!" bleated Luke, producing a blade from somewhere in the hangy folds of his overshirt. Manny hopped back as Luke twirled the blade around. "Yeah, that's right. I'll be making my way right out of this castle now, and I'll be taking that boy with me. You got that?"

Manny sighed, grabbed Luke by the forearm, and began twisting his blade arm away. "Drop the knife!" he said. "Drop it now!"

"No!" shouted Luke. "Aargh! Ohh! You're killing me! You're killing me!"

"Drop the knife, then!"

"No!"

"For Christ's sake!" said Manny, and smashed his fist into Luke's face. The man and the blade hit the stone slabs of the castle courtyard in tandem. Manny shook off his hand, screwed up his eyes, and opened his mouth in an extended, pouted oval, like he'd just burnt his tongue on hot soup. He turned back to James and Elias. "Why do I keep having to deal with fucking twats today? You can't say that weren't coming."

James snorted and shrugged in a silent guffaw. Elias gazed up at him, his face broken in a wobbly smile, more giggling racking his body.

"Don't you ever say or do things like that," Manny chided Elias. "That's just for when Uncle Manny gets angry, got it?"

Elias nodded. James squeezed the lad by the shoulders. "Would you like to live here, with us?"

"Leave me to deal with this," said Manny, looking down, hands on hips, at the prone Cockney on the floor. "You go and get him sorted out."

"Come on, Elias," said James to the boy. "We'll get you cleaned up first, then we can get you settled in. Follow me."

He held out his hand for Elias to take and walked his new charge through the little door in the middle of the castle gate, off down the slope behind the castle to the riverside. The sun played dominoes through the eaves, lightly rustling in the slight breeze. Bees buzzed back and forth busily amongst the overhead blossoms.

"Clothes off," said James, pulling a bar of soap from a cabinet on the riverside. "I'll come in for a dip with you."

Moorhens bobbed by. The breeze caught again. The river water rippled like the ghosts of waves breaking on a blank shore.

***

James' bedroom was cosy in the dim light of the oil lamp. He had enjoyed living in the castle, but that would have to change now. He had Elias to think of and the boy needed his own space.

Elias hadn't said much all day. James presumed he must still be taking in his new surroundings, as well as trying to get a feel for how – and what – to communicate with him. Nevertheless, there was no denying that, once cleaned up, he was a cute boy. Perfectly well-behaved, too, despite his quietness. He didn't seem withdrawn; simply unsure where to begin. And who could blame him? He was nine. James was a grown man, yet he was still playing everything by ear.

He unpacked Elias' few belongings from his little rucksack. The boy had been instructed to use the toilet and brush his teeth ready for bed, and had complied without argument, bouncing a little as he walked into the bathroom, like the way his great uncle used to walk. There wasn't much to sort through. A few balls of dirty socks and some dirty briefs; a change of shorts and tee-shirt; a pair of pyjamas made up of short bottoms and a short-sleeved top, decorated with the image of a yellow, spiky-haired boy, razzing all comers.

James reached deeper into the bag and pulled out something soft but firm, small and roundish. He held in his hand a little blue teddy bear, its fabric slightly worn, with a boy's name in a black oval attached to its tummy by Velcro. Jonathan.

"That's granddad," said Elias. "I've been keeping him safe."

James looked up at the boy and they smiled at each other. Elias was stood in only a pair of boxer shorts, having dumped the rest of his clothing in the bathroom. James, knelt beside the bag and observing Elias from midriff height, was aware again of how dirty and smelly all of Elias' clothes were from his long journey, picking up a strong whiff of sweat and stale urine from his underpants. He'd have to find replacements in the morning while the rest were washed or thrown out.

"Look," said Elias, kneeling beside James and reaching back into the rucksack. "I've got Uncle Jake in here too! That's how I found you."

Elias pulled a matching blue bear out of the bottom of his bag. Jacob. He turned it over and revealed a label protruding from the bear's bottom. There, in smudged and faded blue ink, was the address of their farm; the house he'd grown up in. He looked down at the bear in his hands and turned it over. He grinned to himself as he read the label. It was the address of the winter house, complete with its long-obsolete postcode.

"Shall we take them to bed with us tonight?" suggested James. "I bet they could use a cuddle."

"Yeah," smiled Elias. "Luke wouldn't let me get them out while I was with him."

"Well," said James, "none of us have to worry about him anymore, do we?"

"No," grinned Elias. "Your brother is cool!"

"I'll tell him you said that," chuckled James. "He's your uncle now. Anyway; pyjamas on, pants off. We don't want you in my bed in the noddy, do we?"

"No!" giggled Elias. "That would be rude!"

"Yeah," said James, standing up and causing his knees to click from being set in place on the floor too long. He ruffled the back of Elias' golden-brown hair as the boy drew his pyjamas to himself – apparently unworn throughout his entire journey from how clean they looked – and sat on the end of the bed as Elias dressed himself with his back turned. "We don't want any of that, do we?"

"Do you live in the castle all the time?" asked Elias, yanking up his pyjama shorts and hopping a hundred and eighty degrees to face James, hands still on the elastic of his bottoms forcing a small bundle to stretch their front.

"I do," said James, "but I was thinking we could move somewhere else, so you could have your own bed in your own room. Would you like that, Elias?"

Elias flashed all of his teeth at once. "I'd love it!" he exclaimed, spreading his arms wide.

"I think the floor above where Uncle Manny lives is free," said James. "We can have a look at it tomorrow. You'd get to play with his little boy, Theo, all the time."

"Please can we do that?" begged Elias, smile parting his tired face. "I want to know all my family."

"I think you and Theo will be best of friends," said James. "You can be his big brother and look after him."

"I think I can do that," nodded Elias. "Uncle James?"

"What's up?"

"Will you give me a cuddle before I go to sleep?"

"Of course I will. Come on. Let's hop in."

James pulled off his tee-shirt and shorts, slipping under the covers with his underpants on, and uncovered the other side of the bed for the pyjama-clad Elias. He reached to put out the lamp and felt Elias gently sidle up to him.

"Do you know any stories about my granddad and Uncle Jake?" he whispered. "Could you tell me before bed?"

"I'll tell you a story about Uncle Jake," replied James. "It's a story about a little boy who was nine, who had lost both his parents and needed his uncle to look after him."

"Just like me?" said Elias.

"Just like you," said James.

Epilogue

The sun was barely visible over the castle walls as James and Elias came bounding out of the main doors, dressed to travel, rucksacks on their backs. They'd both donned shades; the glare from the early-morning late-August sun was too much for their eyes. James' sunglasses were rather fancy. Lovers in the backseat. There was a rattling on the courtyard stones as James lugged a heavy, wheeled suitcase towards the gateway. At this time of morning, the gates were closed. Only the little door built into them was open.

Mary Stanley was manning the doorway. She was a broad woman with tightly curled red-brown hair and freckles dotted across a warm, round face; musclebound arms and ample breasts. She waved at James and Elias as they approached, Elias smiling and waving warmly back.

"Nice shades!" she cooed to the boy. "You're looking really flash!"

"Thanks!" grinned Elias.

"Oh, James," she groaned, squeezing him into a backbreaking hug. "It's such a shame to be losing you. I'm so sorry for what's happened. Really."

"That's okay," replied James. "Thanks for saying so. With Elias arriving, I'd had to have made a change anyway. Right now, I think it's for the best that he gets to see where his uncle lived, and where I grew up."

"You excited, Elias?" asked Mary.

"Yeah!" he said. "I can't wait to go up the river on the boat!"

"Say," observed Mary, "that's a big case you've got there. I thought Manny and Tracey had already helped you move all the big stuff?"

"Yeah," said James. "There's always a bit more than you expect, isn't there? I've got the last of it loaded on the punt already. Just our personal bits and bobs and ourselves to go."

"Manny and Tracey still down at your farm with Theo?" asked Mary.

"They're having a bit of a break," James confirmed. "It's good for Theo, the way everything's been here lately. Nice to get away. Plus, they can help us get all moved in."

"It did seem like they were taking a lot of stuff for you," mused Mary.

"You know me," said James. "Can't leave any of my books and papers behind. Proper hoarder."

"Aye," laughed Mary. "Hoarder of knowledge more like! Say, I dunnaa how that poor lad in there's gonna cope with you gone and Manny away, especially now his mother's done a runner, like."

"I've already said all there is to say about that," said James, shaking his head. "Can you blame Harmonie, with the way people have been since?"

"Shame for the lad, though, for his mother just to up and leave him," said Mary. "Whatever he's done, like, he don't deserve that."

"It'll be tough for him," sighed James. "Do me a favour, make sure he gets a lie in today?"

"Aye," nodded Mary. "I'll see to that. Like a last request!"

Elias fiddled with the zip of the suitcase, poking his finger into the point at the top where the two zippers met.

"Don't fiddle with that, mate," said James, winking at Elias.

"Ah, leave him be!" chuckled Mary. "He's just antsy to get on his way, eh, lad?"

Elias cocked his head at Mary and gave her a shy smile. She ruffled his hair.

"Come here, you!" said Mary, cracking James' back with another hug. She released him and held him by the bicep and elbow. "You look after yourself, eh? You too, young man. Make sure this one doesn't get you into too much trouble!"

"Thanks, Mary," said James. "I'll miss this place, too. Come on, El. Let's be on our way."

"You go through," said Mary, a little teary-eyed. "I'll pass the case through for you, save you having to mess about."

"It's no trouble–"

"How, don't be daft, man. Go on."

James eased Elias ahead of him through the doorway. Mary heaved the case through after them with a grunt.

"That's a heavy load!" she said, reaching through the gates to place it carefully on the ground outside. James grabbed it by the handle.

"The last of my books," James explained. "Couldn't bear to have them go ahead of me."

"You all over!" chuckled Mary. "Goodbye, pet. Don't be a stranger!"

"I won't!" called James, waving back as he powerwalked along the castle walkway.

"Bye!" waved Elias, turning to trot along and catch up with James, already stepping out onto Palace Green.

"Let's go!" hissed James. "Quick!"

"We did it!" bounced Elias.

"Shh! We're not out of the woods yet. Hurry after me!"

They speed walked through Hatfield, James grunting and snorting as he carried the suitcase down to the A-Stairs basement and out through the back door. They slipped their way down the rear pathway, trying not to bump the suitcase too much over potholes and rogue steps on the way. Their punt greeted them at the Hatfield landing stage, laden with other bags and cases of their belongings. James lifted the heavy case into place with a clunk. The moored boat wobbled and bobbed on the river, sunlight gleaming off the honey-brown flow in pinpricks of glitter.

"You'll have to untie us, El," said James, picking up the metal pole. "I'll push us off."

Elias fumbled with the rope knot until the flat-bottomed boat was eventually free. James pushed them off as hard as he could, sending them skittling upstream along the river, tracking a few boat widths off the bank down towards the stone arches of Elvet Bridge. Elias, sat facing James and watching the scenery drift past him in reverse, wasn't still for long. He opened his rucksack on the seat beside him.

"That's it," said James. "Get the change of clothes ready. Don't jump the gun, though."

They floated through the tight arches of Elvet Bridge, the river turning away from the high promontory of the Bailey. James was giving it everything he had to get their speed up. He knew he had to in this first section, until they got clear of Shincliffe. Elias went to unzip the case.

"Not yet!" snapped James.

Elias sat back down with a plop, making the boat rock and shudder in the water. James used the pole as a rudder, straightening them back up. With another mighty heave into the stony riverbed, they picked up another burst of acceleration. Elias looked up and watched them pass under the high hump of Baths Bridge.

"I'm doing it now," he said.

"Wait!" hissed James, but Elias was already leaning over the suitcase, releasing the zips at the handle end. It creaked open. The top half of a naked boy popped out.

"We out of the city already?" squeaked Archie. "Ah, no, man! That's where I go for me baths. We're still by Whinney Hill!"

"Get back down!" snapped James. "Elias, give him the clothes to put on while he's in the case."

Nobody could've seen him; it was still early in the morning. Over on the old university cricket ground the cows had barely started their grazing for the day. The air was still. James pushed the punt on again, the little octagonal gazebo thing by the riverside and the statue of the Dun Cow in sight on the bank ahead. That's when he heard the shouting, back in the city, vibrating off the building fronts in the calm of the sunny summer morning.

"There's people pointing at us, back on the stone bridge!" said Elias, pushing his sunglasses down and shading his eyes from the sun to squint back at the city. James turned his head to look back, pushing the boat on again with another thrust of the pole. They passed the cow statue on their right. Somewhere up the thicketed hill on their left, the College of St Hild & St Bede watched over them. They drifted past the bandstand gazebo. Behind them, a man sprinted along the bank between Elvet Bridge and Baths Bridge, but he was a long way behind.

"Are they gonna catch us?" asked Archie, popping his head out of the suitcase again to reveal he was now sporting a blue sleeveless vest from Elias' new collection of clothes.

"Too late now," said James, grunting as he pushed the punt onward upstream at full speed. Water dripped down his arms from the metal pole. Sweat and river water streamed down his face. The turn by the rowing and rugby clubs was coming up, where a burn joined from the side. They'd be around Whinney Hill and at Maiden Castle in no time. "No chance of them raising the alarm at the Shincliffe Bridge in time, even if they have a bike."

"I hope so," said Elias. "I don't want them to lock us all up."

"Aye," came Archie's voice from back inside the case. "That's no fun, I can promise you that."

"Just stay down in the case for now, Arch," instructed James. "I'll let you know when we get past Shincliffe."

"Alright," piped the boy inside the suitcase. "Least I can see the sky now."

James pushed past the sports ground at Maiden Castle. His arms were cramping, and he'd nearly lost his balance a couple of times on the back end of the boat, but they were nearly safe, and afterwards he could rest a little. Maybe even give Archie or Elias a go. He instinctively gazed at the bank where the Hollerans kept their goats. They'd donated a couple to James, now on the farm, to help him get it restarted again. Chickens, too. He wondered how they'd feel when they found out what he'd really done. It didn't matter. He knew he was right. Cybi knew it too. He was at the bank, drinking from the river as James and the boys sped by against the flow. He raised his head and bleated respectfully, watching them pass by before returning to the water to drink again.

"That was Cybi!" said Elias. "Bye, Cybi!"

"Bye, Cubster," said James, before mumbling under his breath: "Tough old bastard."

A couple of minutes later, they passed under the road bridge between Maiden Castle and Shincliffe. Archie saw the base of the bridge passing above him and scrambled from the suitcase to take a seat beside Elias. Someone had abandoned a bike on the bridge and was bellowing at the top of his voice. James realised it was Rob Clifford. Sarah Holleran had come running down the road to see what the commotion was about. Immy followed in her mother's wake.

Rob's face was a picture as James' boat popped out from the bridge beneath them, carrying them away towards the woods, and out of the control of Durham City. Immy made it to the railings of the bridge, leaning over in disbelieving surprise as she watched James, Archie, and Elias float away up the river. She laughed with joy.

"James!" she shouted, waving her arms. "James! Good luck, sir! Fucking good luck!"

The bridge disappeared behind the overgrowth of trees. James gave another heave on the pole, and they turned past old farmland reclaimed by thick shrubbery. A wooded, hilly ridge separated them from Shincliffe. James looked at the boys. They looked at each other and laughed. Archie was crying.

"Did we do it?" he demanded. "Did we really get away?"

"Don't think they'll bother trying to catch us at Sunderland Bridge," said James. "Too far south, not enough people out to get us. Especially without Manny there to organise."

"Fuckin' mint!" grinned Archie. Elias squealed with falsetto laughter.

"Language, Arch," James chided with a smirk. He was still heaving as hard as he could to keep the punt at speed. He wouldn't truly believe they were safe until they were clear of the old Great North Road at Sunderland Bridge and Croxdale, though there was no way he could keep up this pace until then.

"Will Uncle Manny be waiting for us at the farm?" asked Elias.

"He'll be meeting us at the bend by St James, where we always used to leave the boat," said James, panting from the relentless pace. "Your mom, too, Arch."

"I cannit wait!" Archie smiled, rubbing his hands with glee. "How long's it gonna take, like?"

"All day!" laughed James. "I can't keep us going this fast forever!"

"What are we gonna do till then?" said Archie incredulously, his face contorted.

"I brought snacks!" Elias grinned. "And we can play I-spy! I'll go first. I spy, with my little eye, something beginning with… C!"

"Cow…?" tried Archie.

"Nope!" smirked Elias, shaking his head quickly.

"Uhhh… Cloud?" he tried again.

"No!" laughed Elias. "You're never gonna get it."

"Ah, how man!" groaned Archie. "That's not fair. I never win games like this."

"Don't worry Arch," said James, pushing the punt on again. "We have got all day."

"Living with you's gonna drive me up the wall," Archie sighed, turning to Elias and folding his arms dramatically.

"Well…" squeaked Elias, stretching out his arms playfully and wrapping one roughly around Archie's neck, "sometimes in life you get what you deserve."

James laughed. Archie was trying hard not to let a smirk crack his face, too.

"Wise words, El," winked James. "You remind me of someone I used to know."

Credits

Words: Bard Boy

With thanks to: Alex B, Craig P, Talo Segura & Zachyboy

With inspiration from: Looking For JJ by Anne Cassidy; The Guilty One by Lisa Ballantyne; The Children Act by Ian McEwan; The Sleep Of Reason by David James Smith; and much more – I am what I eat.

For the world of 2019.

Starring

James Martin (age 9-32): Sensitive, thoughtful, mousey-haired hero who never quite stopped learning and growing up. Self-preservation is the greatest act of rebellion against the universe.

"Jake?" asked James, looking up from the book Jake had given him. He was reclined back in his corner of the sofa, nearest the fireplace, his jogger-clad legs and brightly-stockinged feet arranged untidily on the seat cushion. He rolled up a lilting, sing-song question; the kind of question tone a child preserves for a teacher. "What does saccharine mean?"

"It means sort of sickly-sweet," answered Jake, reaching out his foot from the battered pouffe in front of the armchair to touch James' big toe with his own. "Like so gooey it's over the top."

"Oh," said James, observing Jake seriously over the top edge of his book, and wiggling his toe back against Jake's. "Like you sometimes when we're in bed together, then?"

Manny Addo (age 10-31): The ringlet-haired ragamuffin who brought his bundles of love and fun to complete the original threesome. Affection is voluntary, but love is reflexive.

"I don't think there's much useful here, Jake," said James, peering around the frigid, dingy warehouse as he walked a polythene and polystyrene-strewn aisle with Manny. "It's all, like, bottles with skeletons drawn on them."

"Ha! Look at this one!" exclaimed Manny with delight. "Toilet Duck! Look at the little spout on the top, too! It looks like a soft, floppy willy!"

James' eyes lit up. He stood rocking in semi-silent titters as Manny grabbed a bottle of Toilet Duck and unscrewed the cap. He pulled it roughly to his crotch, leaned back, and rotated and thrust his hips as he squirted the liquid in a wide stream in front of him.

"Look at me!" giggled Manny. "I'm a toilet duck!"

"Manny!" snapped Jake, striding along the aisle to catch up with the boys. "Don't do that! It's chemicals!"

"Can't hear you Jake," laughed Manny. "I'm a widdling toilet duck! Quack quack!"

Archie Stephens (age 10): The sad little boy with the dirty-blond hair, who did – and didn't – take out his pain and frustration on little Angelika Wojnowski. I remember that day; it was our last. When the tempers that fray can't go back. And I won't let you go through that day again – I won't let you go through that day again.

"Goats are weird," complained Archie. "I dinnit like 'em at all."

"It's cos you tease 'em, Arch," replied Manny, hammering a fence post into place.

"I don't!"

"Yeah you do!"

"They want to eat me shorts! Why shouldn't I try to stop 'em?"

"Let them eat your shorts, then, Arch!" laughed Manny. "Hardly the end of the world, is it?"

"I'm fed up of you, like," bristled Archie. "You make fun of us all the time."

"Don't pretend you don't like it, Arch," sniggered Manny. "Here, hold this hammer. I need a big strong lad to help me with this fence, not a stroppy boy standing around."

"Alright, I'll do it," said Archie. "But if those goats come over, you better keep them away from me."

"The smell of your armpits will do that, Arch," Manny chuckled, eliciting a high-pitched growl from Archie as he smacked the hammer hard against the next post.

And introducing Elias Baker (age 9) as Jake's grandnephew.

"Clever lad!" smiled James, ruffling the back of Elias' golden-brown hair as he carried a trayful of eggs carefully into the kitchen.

"Thanks!" chirped Elias, setting them down on the table. "Do you really think I'm clever?"

"Oh, yeah," said James. "And I know a smart boy when I see one."

"I think Luke thought I was clever too, while he was bringing me all the way up here; he kept calling me smart…" Elias grinned, pointed to his bum, and dropped his voice to a whisper, "arse!"

James fell about with laughter; he knocked the table and rattled the eggs.

"Hey, watch it!" complained Elias. "What's so funny?"

"Smart arse isn't a compliment, El," chuckled James. "You shouldn't say that to people."

"What does it mean then? What was he calling me?"

"He meant you were cheeky, Elias."

"Oh," smiled Elias. "That's alright then. Cheekiness is a kind of smartness, isn't it?"

Characters (in order of appearance):

Angelika Wojnowski as little dead girl

Dan Turner as town brewer and booze jockey

Mary Stanley as busty sheriff's deputy

Rob Clifford as cunty sheriff's deputy

Tina Gould as bereaved mother

Freya MacKenzie as slick city council chief

Amrit Singh as old doctor

Harvey O'Connor as chief provisioner

Georgia Smith as buildings manager

Saffron Johnstone as marshal

Ruairidh Burns as head carpenter

Harmonie Stephens as Archie's mother

Bella Stephens as Archie's little sister

Theo Addo as Manny's little boy

Tracey Shawcross as Manny's partner

Scott & Tommy as dream twins

Yellow-toothed man as dream beggar and boy-catcher

Aaron Walker as 12-year-old boy

Adam Wojnowski as bereaved father

Henry as tortoise

Shelley as castle cat

Ryan Henderson as camp boy

Josh Holleran as chicken farmer

Immy Holleran as children's teacher

Cybi as elderly goat

Nuala as lion cub

Jude as 12-year-old captive

Mike as 9-year-old captive

Harry as 8-year-old captive

Anonymous teen as brick-throwing teen

Marcus Gould as Angelika's uncle

Luke Sbraglia as Cockney boy-hawker

Sarah Holleran as chicken farmer

In loving memory of Jacob Daniel Baker, 1990-2050

'He was born in the world not just strongly attracted to beauty but, almost, hopelessly impaled on it.'

The End