Part 4
Trowa knocked on his father's study door. Dekim looked up and nodded. Unfortunately, Dekim was at the moment only half-sane and thus forgot you cannot see someone nod through the door. He became irritated and briskly ordered Trowa to enter.
"Good afternoon, Father, how are you feeling this evening?" Trowa asked, careful to pronounce the words in the precise accent his tutor had drilled into him.
"Perfectly wretched. I seem to have misplaced something and I cannot recall what it was, nor how to find it."
He misplaced his sanity long ago... Trowa thought to himself. However, he didn't say that. Instead, he said, "Father, I was wondering if perhaps I could invite a chum to visit with me."
"Friend? You have a friend? Excellent. Bring him 'round, we'll all have tea together." Dekim continued on his mad search for something.
"Father, he's a... street friend. I'd like for him to live here and be educated by Mr. Edwards." Mr. Edwards was his tutor, and a crustier man had never lived.
"Yes yes, haven't I just said you could?" Dekim asked, clearly slipping into a deeper state of being mad. Trowa let it pass, because it was no use arguing with a mad man.
"Thank you, Father," Trowa said when Dekim exclaimed.
"I've found them! I've found my marbles!" he said triumphantly, and proceeded to ignore Trowa completely. Trowa sighed and left the study.
I simply must find that boy, otherwise I shall go completely mad myself.
Trowa skipped out on his lessons to go look for the boy. He put on old clothes and ventured out onto the street. He easily slipped into the old patterns. No one of the lower class walked straight and proud. They slouched along, keeping their eyes to the street. Remarkably, it was not as impossible to find people as one might think.
He spotted the boy across the street, though it seemed nigh impossible to cross with the heavy traffic. However, it seemed that the blond boy was in trouble again. A police man caught him stealing and was likely to toss him in the gaol if Trowa didn't do something.
Trowa cut across the street, annoying the horses and people alike. When he got to the police officer, he pushed him from behind. The boy used the distraction to run one way, and Trowa quickly ran another.
Using everything he could remember, he ran for the dark back alleys, getting deeper and deeper into the poor quarters. He stopped, finally and leaned against the wall, heavily winded.
"Yer mad," said a voice unexpectedly beside him. Trowa started. It was the boy, looking angry. He hit Trowa.
"Ouch," Trowa said.
TBC...