第 114 页

“Until we find the bod- Beleg, we won’t know how much of his story is true or not,” said Tulkas, shifting from where he’d been standing against the wall. “And maybe not even then.”

“Then go find him!” exploded Mablung, and this time he did lunge forward, striking his fist against the bars of the cell. “He never should have gone after you!” he shouted at Túrin. “I told him not to, I told him that you didn’t want to be found, but he didn’t listen, and I stopped trying to talk him out of it because I knew he’d never give up on you – He loved you, you bastard, and god only knows why – ”

It had taken both Oromë and Tulkas to pull him away, and it wasn’t until they were back in Tulkas’ office, and the report was laid in front of him that Mablung finally fell silent again, going almost rigid as he stared at the file. He ignored the low talk around him as Tulkas and Oromë spoke, and Oromë briefly left to convince Túrin to go to the infirmary for an examination and treatment.

“We got him cleaned up, too,” said Oromë when he returned, looking older and wearier with shadows under his eyes.

Mablung said nothing, and Oromë had turned back to the report.

“ ‘The victim’,” Mablung said now. “ ‘The John Doe.’ How the fuck can you stand hearing him talked about like that?”

Tulkas’ phone rang, and he excused himself to take the call. Oromë pulled Mablung into the hallway and walked him back towards the parking lot.

“You don’t have to stand it,” he said, as Mablung buried his hands in his pockets and bowed his head, his hair falling into his eyes. “You don’t have to take it. I know it’s painful to hear him talked about like that – so why stick around here? They’re going to let us know if they learn anything.”

Mablung said something too indistinct to hear.

Oromë bent closer. “What was that?” He straightened up helplessly and ran an exhausted hand over his hair when Mablung didn’t respond. “Do you want to wait at my house? Better than waiting alone, unless you’d prefer that.”

“I should have stopped him,” said Mablung, to his feet. “It doesn’t matter what I said back there, I could have stopped him if I’d tried harder. And if I couldn’t – I should have gone after him sooner. I should have gone after him before it was too late.” He dragged his forearm over his eyes and coughed. “Because it’s too late now, isn’t it, Coach?”

* * *

Celegorm loped down the hallway past the room that until recently had been Aredhel’s. He glanced into the room absently as he made to turn down the stairs, then backed up and paused in the doorway, his brow furrowed, to examine the scene more carefully.

Curufin was lying on the floor, staring intently at the ceiling.

“Curvo?”

“Shh.”

“Uhh, you do know this isn’t your room, right?” Celegorm leaned against the doorframe. “Are you okay, kid?”

“Yes. Shut up, I’m trying to concentrate.” Curufin raised his arm and held out his thumb and forefinger, closing one eye. “It’s about…four feet in.”

“Jesus.” Celegorm looked at him in some alarm. “What is? Four feet into where?”

“The cord I need to run from the attic beam to the wall where I can drop it down and hook it to the extension I’m running from my room.”

“Oh.” Celegorm rubbed his eyes. “Bro. Dad told you to stop doing home wiring projects.”

“He said no more at the Formenos house. He never said anything about wiring projects here.”

“Prob’ly because he assumed you were smart enough not to attempt to electrocute yourself in this 1950s nightmare of a slum.”

“Oh, please. Try 1850s, and it’s not a slum, it’s a Victorian.”

“I saw the dead bats they pulled out of the walls three years ago; dead bats say ‘slum’ to me. And ok, so it’s a century and a half old, you think that makes this a better idea?”

“I think it will mean a far more optimal location for our router.”

“That’s all? Our Wi-Fi is fine, Curvo, it’s more than fine seeing as you talked us into paying for fucking business class, and now you’re talking about running wires through god knows where – ”

“Not god knows where. Though the attic. And our router could be more optimally located, is all.”

“I’m gonna put my foot down.” Celegorm crossed his arms over his chest. “No fuckin’ wall wires.”

“I’ve already cut three holes,” murmured Curufin, still examining the ceiling.

“Of course you have, you little shit of an authority-underminer.”

Curufin sat up. “I’m actually glad you’re here.”

“That’s new.”

“Yes. I needed someone to go up in the attic and drop the wires down where I direct them to.”

“Someday,” said Celegorm, wandering into the hall to get the ladder out of the closet, “I am going to learn how to say no to you, and then you’ll be sorry.”

-

“Okay,” Curufin called from the top of the ladder, only his legs visible in the hall as he poked his head into the stuffy attic crawl space. “You’re going to want to walk about three strides left and then turn and take two strides right. Then you’ll drop the cord I’m feeding you down the gap in the wall you’ll feel there.”

Celegorm’s voice echoed hollowly from the attic. “Your strides, or my strides?”

“Just take normal paces, Tyelko.”

“I’m just saying, your strides are a lot smaller than mine.”

“I am not THAT much shorter than you, and you are mostly torso anyway. I have long legs for my size.”

There was a muffled sound like someone shuffling across a beam, and then Celegorm said, faintly, “Was that two to the left and three to the right, or – ”

“It was the opposite,” said Curufin impatiently, “if you turn too quickly, you’ll step off the beam and then it’s just insulation and plaster and you’ll go right through the – ”

There was an almighty crash.

“Tyelko!”

Curufin raced down the ladder, only just keeping himself from tripping on the lowest rung, and dashed into the spare room. The ceiling had given way, depositing Celegorm onto the floor in a cascade of plaster and fiberglass. Celegorm was lying on the floor in almost the same place Curufin had been earlier.

Curufin dropped to his knees and grabbed Celegorm’s hand. “Tyelko! Are you okay? Talk to me!”

Celegorm blinked thoughtfully at the ceiling. “I think… I think a helmet might have been a good idea.”

Curufin let go of Celegorm’s hand and jabbed him hard in the ribs. “You didn’t listen to where I told you to walk!”

“Maybe some padding, too.”

“Look at the size of that hole!”

“We should have moved the mattress, it would have been a much softer landing.”

“Are you okay or not?”

Celegorm sat up, wincing slightly, and checked his ribs, then his head. “I’m gonna feel it tomorrow, but nothing is broken.”

Curufin breathed out a small sigh of relief, then scowled. “Nothing broken, except the ceiling!”

Celegorm looked at him. “Did I or did I not tell you not to do this?”

“Did I or did I not tell you exactly where to step?”

“This is what happens when you do home improvement. I hope you’ve learned your lesson.”

Curufin narrowed his eyes. “If this stunt was engineered for the sole purpose of trying to dissuade me from – ” He broke off, looking anxious, as Celegorm shifted and let out a hiss of pain. “What’s wrong? What hurts?”

“My fucking tailbone, you wang. A bruised coccyx is going to put a serious cramp in my style.”

“Is it broken?”

“Calm down, I’ve taken harder falls.” Celegorm grimaced and heaved himself to his feet, brushing dust from himself.

Curufin scrambled up too. “You should go sit on the bed for a bit, at least.”

“With this bruised ass, it’s gonna be the only mattress action I’ll be getting anytime soon,” grumbled Celegorm, and limped over to the bed, raising an absent hand to his head as he did.

“You hit your head,” said Curufin accusingly. “Of course you did. I’m going to get ice.”

“Don’t bother. Get weed instead,” Celegorm called after him, but Curufin was already down the stairs.

In five minutes, he was back with ice and Advil, which he tossed to Celegorm. Then he sat on the bed next to him and rubbed at his temples, trying to think. Celegorm made to sit up and Curufin planted a hand on his chest and pushed him down again. “Okay, no, you need to stay put, hold still. How do we know if you have a concussion?”

Celegorm shrugged, holding the icepack to his head. “I never lost consciousness and I don’t feel nauseous, so it can’t be that bad. I don’t have a concussion, seriously, my ass took most of the impact.”

“Right,” muttered Curufin. “I am much reassured. Give me your phone, I’m going to call your boyfriend to come over and see what he thinks – surely he’s seen concussions before, probably in you for that matter.”

“Don’t bug Oromë with this shit, he’s been back and forth to the police like four times today waiting to hear if they have anything new.”

Curufin raised an eyebrow. “And spending all day with your nemesis, to boot. How do you feel about that?”

Celegorm shot him a look but answered evenly. “He’s been temporarily downgraded from nemesis to nuisance. And you gotta feel a bit bad for – Whatever. Don’t call Oromë.”

“I just want his opinion. Then we can take you to the doctor if necessary.”

“Aw, peanut, you’re worried about me! That’s adorable.”

“Yes, well, I may be Father’s favorite but he’ll still have something stern to say if he learns I dropped you through a ceiling and caused you damage.”

Celegorm smiled crookedly, glancing at the scar on Curufin’s cheek. “Just tell him we’re even.”

Curufin ignored this, standing up and putting his hands on his hips. “I still need someone with long arms who’s not too broad to retrieve the cables left in the walls.”

“Where are you? Didn’t you hear me yelling from downstairs? I needed someone to unlock the door and I ended up having to go in through the – Why does Tyelko have ice on his head?” Caranthir came into the room, mouth full and a half-eaten apple in one hand. He looked up and his eyes narrowed. “And why is there a hole in the ceiling?”

Curufin's eyes lit up and he smiled brightly. “Goodness, Moryo, have I commended you on how tall and slender you look today?”

Caranthir immediately retreated. “What do you want, Curvo?”

Curufin darted behind him to prevent him from leaving. “Just a small bit of, ah, light contract work. Come on. Please?”

-

The sun had already come out and it was starting to feel unseasonably warm despite the snow on the ground - a fact which made the clean-up slightly easier.

Standing on the front steps, Caranthir yelped and ducked as Curufin lowered the broom. “Are you trying to damage me?”

“I’m trying to get the plaster dust and fiberglass off you,” said Curufin impatiently. “Hold still!”

“You are getting way too intimate with those bristles,” said Caranthir as Curufin brushed energetically at his shirt with the broom.

“Do you want fiberglass under your skin? Turn around.”

“Boy,” said Celegorm, coming out front and leaning against the doorframe to watch as Caranthir coughed plaster dust and Curufin continued to swipe at him with the broom. “The shit I miss out on when I’m lightly concussed… How come you never do that for me?” He winked at Curufin, and Curufin ignored him.

“I think I got the worst of it off you, but you should probably put all your clothes straight into the laundry.”

“You owe me,” said Caranthir, pulling his shirt over his head and walking back inside with his shoulders hunched slightly. He had spent the last hour walking stoop backed around the attic, gingerly dodging the hole Celegorm had made, as Curufin shouted orders from the top of the ladder. “I think I developed both emphysema and claustrophobia all for you to move the damn router.”

“Everyone in this family is such a drama queen,” said Curufin breezily, following him back into the house. “And I’ll buy you a drink of thanks just as soon as I turn 21.”

“We’re going to have to tell Dad about the ceiling,” said Caranthir, pulling a hoodie on over his bare chest and grabbing a beer out of the fridge. He dropped down into a chair, tossing his shirt to the floor beside him, and put his feet up on the kitchen table.

“Says who?” Curufin pushed Caranthir’s feet off the table and went over to the cupboard. “I don’t think this is something worth bothering Father about.” He rummaged around and emerged with a package of chocolate chips, which he took over to the table and began to eat one at a time as Caranthir put his feet back on the table.

“Since when are you in favor of not tattling to Dad?”

“When it’s his fault,” said Celegorm, plucking the beer from Caranthir’s hand and taking a swig.

“Concussion victims shouldn’t drink.”

“Good thing I don’t have a concussion then.”

“How do you propose to fix this without Dad finding out?”

“We’ll fix it ourselves,” said Curufin, after a moment’s thought. “Or find someone who can. However…”

“However?”

“However,” Curufin winced, “I am concerned that I may have seen some mold in the wreckage that came down with Tyelko.”

“Which means?”

“If there’s mold,” said Curufin, still eating chocolate chips contemplatively, “we will need to hire somewhat to get rid of it. Throughout the house, too, as we cannot assume it is restricted to one area, which could be a multi-day to weeklong project. But I imagine Maitimo will let us all sleep on his floor while the work gets done.”

Both Caranthir and Celegorm burst into speech at once.

"I told you this was an idiot idea! I’ve told you a million times that I am fine with blissful ignorance, and instead you gotta termite around in the ceiling – ”

“How much is this going to cost? If you insist on not telling Dad, does that mean we foot the bill? You act like contractors don’t charge an arm and a leg – ”

Curufin was spared by Celegorm’s phone ringing. “You’d better answer that,” he said helpfully, as Celegorm broke off and looked down, distracted.

“It’s Oromë. Probably calling me back to ask why my weirdo little brother left a terse message on his voicemail about how I tend to behave with a concussion, cheers, Curvo.” He shot a glower at Curufin and answered his phone. “Hey, babe, listen, whatever Curvo said, it’s not that bad – What?”

“What?” said Curufin and Caranthir together.

Celegorm turned away, one hand pressed to his other ear as he listened intently. “Sorry, say that again. They found who, where?”

Curufin and Caranthir both leaned forward imperceptibly.

“Holy shit. What’re they saying? …Uh huh. Uh huh. Okay. You want me to come meet you? Where will you be? Okay. Yeah, call me when you’re out, I guess. You too. And hey, is – Uh, how is Mablung doing?” He listened a while longer, ignoring Curufin and Caranthir’s obvious eavesdropping.

“Mablung,” muttered Caranthir to Curufin. “Is that the Doriath kid who – ”

“Used to lead pickets against dad? Get in fistfights with Tyelko? That’s the one.”

“Yeah, that makes sense. Okay, I’ll see you soon.” Celegorm hung up, and let out a long, low whistle. Curufin raised his eyebrows and Celegorm answered his unspoken question. “They found the Cúthalion kid. Someone dumped him at First Drengist.”