Cyril tried to fight down his disgust. He knew from experience that angry words would do no good, would make the situation worse. He only wanted to take the cat and Vivian home. "We'd like the cat, please." Don't say you've drowned it. If you say you've drowned it, I will say something I'll regret. And then you'll say something I'll regret. The same old story.

"The cat?" Leigh gave an unconcerned shrug, and Cyril was relieved as he continued, "I don't know where it is." So perhaps it yet lived. "I meant to get rid of the little beast, but I couldn't find it anywhere. Hopefully it crawled away somewhere to die."

That's exactly what I hope you'll do, thought Cyril bitterly. "We're going to look for it."

Leigh's thick, wiry eyebrows huddled closer together. "Look for it? Here? Oh no, you're not." He took a step towards the two of them. It was not necessarily a threatening step, but it was undeniably a closing of the space between them, and not in any benign way.

"Oh yes, we are." Cyril had decided he would not be moved. He was not afraid of his brother in the least. The man might be able to intimidate his household, but Cyril was not and would never be a part of his household. "We'll have the boy's cat or I'll do something drastic, I swear. Just let us look for it for a short while, and then we'll leave. And never return, of course." Calmly, Leigh eyed Cyril as if measuring him. Cyril returned the gaze flatly, disinterested. He already knew the true measure of that man and had no desire to remind himself of it. "I don't respond well to threats, Cyril."

"You've crippled the child for life. You should be happy at your success. The least you can do is let us take him his cat, a cat you have already admitted you'd be pleased to be rid of."

Leigh laughed. "What success? I didn't intend to cripple him."

"I know you didn't."

Leigh looked from Cyril to Vivian. Vivian had remained silent for the duration of the conversation, not daring to say anything. Not that he had anything to say to this man who was now regarding him so intently that he could feel himself blanch. "Can you speak?" Leigh asked him, the scorn in his voice undisguised.

"Yes."

"That's something, at least. And why have you come here?"

Vivian hesitated, not because he did not know what to say, but because he did not want to speak to Leigh Atwater. But he responded honestly, as it was a simple enough question. "For Earnest's cat."

Leigh asked lightly, "And are you fucking the loathsome little cripple?"

Vivian started, then frowned. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. It was not fear which struck him mute, however, but anger. Anger filled his throat and made it hard for him to breathe, let alone speak. This man had no right to speak of Earnest in such a fashion. But it was just as well that he could not find the voice to reply. It did not strike him as a question which was worthy of an answer.

"Leigh." Cyril's voice was a whiplash. He knew Leigh had only said that to irk him, and he had no right to involve Vivian in their age-old quarrel. "Enough."

"It was a joke, Cyril. I thought you and your set were fond of jokes." As his jest had not proved popular with his audience, he threw back his head to laugh at it himself. His laughter was a brusque series of amused bursts, not unlike gunshots. But his merriment was brief, and he composed himself momentarily. "Very well, very well." Leigh shoved his hands in the pockets of his vest with a long-suffering sigh. "You can look for the damned cat. After all, you'll be doing me a service if you get rid of it. If it's even here. As I said, I haven't seen it about. Just remember your part of the bargain."

"My part?" Cyril lifted an eyebrow.

"Never to return."

"Ah, yes. I assure you, it will give me great pleasure to fulfill my part of our bargain."

"Good. Then we're agreed."

Cyril gave a curt nod. "Yes. I accept the offered terms."

Leigh watched him through slitted eyes, and Cyril returned the gaze. Brother facing brother, neither of them intimidated by the other, each of them loathing the other. If there was a war between them, it was presently at an impasse. "Don't expect me to show you about."

"Good. I'd rather you didn't. But I hope you can lend us someone?"

"Yes. Someone will be lent. Now, if you'll excuse me." Without a word of farewell, he turned his back on them and left. Vivian glanced out the window. It had grown darker while they'd spoken to Leigh. The sky was a pale gray blue, curiously nacreous. The trees, raising their branches towards that sky, seemed as though they were underwater, like enormous undersea corals. Vivian wondered if this was what it was like, living on the bottom of the ocean. If the surface of the ocean would seem like the sky.

What seemed like a few minutes passed before either of them spoke again. "I apologize," said Cyril softly. "You don't have to," Vivian returned. "It's all right. He didn't bother me." His words were not strictly the truth, but there was some truth in them nonetheless. Leigh had not bothered him for his own sake, not really. It was as Cyril as said: Leigh couldn't harm him under Cyril's protection. That was obvious. Yet the encounter with Leigh had put him in mind of those who were not under anyone's protection, and he felt badly for anyone forced to suffer anyone under that man. If he had been so cruel to Earnest, surely he was capable of showing such cruelty to another. It bothered him, knowing that there were such people in the world. Perhaps he had been sheltered by his own loving home life, because he still found it so hard to believe, the brutality that one could encounter within one's own family.

Cyril laid a hand on his shoulder. "You're a good lad, Vivian." He was thankful that Vivian seemed to have taken Leigh's offhand remarks concerning his tendencies as just that-- baseless remarks. Although it did trouble him, keeping such a thing from this boy he cared for so much, he had to respect Percy's wishes in the matter. He was glad Leigh had said nothing which would truly upset the boy, at least-- nothing that struck too near the mark. He very nearly had, however, and that near miss had left Cyril a little breathless. He breathed in deeply, calming himself. Hopefully the end of that interview was the last of the contact he would have with Leigh for a great long while.

"I hope we'll find her," said Vivian, still looking out the window, but putting up a hand to touch the hand Cyril had laid on his shoulder. "I'm glad he didn't do anything to her."

For a moment, as his breath slowed into its regular rhythm, Cyril was unsure of who Vivian was speaking of, then he remembered, of course, the cat. The reason for their being here. He smiled. Such a compassionate young man. He couldn't feel too disgusted by his brother when presented with this rare glimpse of what he considered hope for humanity. "I rather suspect we will find her. Now that I think of it, I just might have a good idea of where she is."

Vivian turned away from the window, his expression faintly perplexed. "You do? Where?"

Cyril removed his hand from Vivian's shoulder, and held it aloft, his pointer finger outstretched, pointing towards the ceiling. "Wait. I'm not sure of anything yet. We'll see."

"Hello, Uncle Cyril."

Both Cyril and Vivian turned at the sound of this new voice. Vivian viewed with surprise the unexpected apparition of a young man dressed all in dove gray, with locks of very thick, very dark brown hair, falling in his eyes a little. He wore large spectacles with round lenses, and they rendered him somewhat owlish. Behind the glass lenses were two wide eyes, green brown, though somewhat more green than brown. Those eyes viewed Cyril and Vivian pensively. The face they were a part of had thin lips and a long nose, was narrow and pale, but with roses blooming on its cheeks. The voice this young man spoke in was a low one, like that of someone speaking in a quiet room, trying not to be overheard by anyone who might be standing outside the door. "Father told me you needed my assistance?"

Father--? Then this was Leigh's son? Vivian hadn't known Leigh had any children besides his stepson Earnest. He had never thought to consider the matter. Vivian viewed the young man with increased surprise. At first glance, he bore little resemblance to his father; there was a similarity about the eyes, that was the most of it. This boy was muted where his father was brash, moderate of build where his father was stout, mannerly where his father was boorish. Vivian's first impression of him was a favorable one, and it was only improved when he heard the fond tone in Cyril's voice as he said, "Hello, Nigel. It's good to see you. Yes-- if we might borrow you for a bit. I hope you don't mind?"

Cyril bowed politely, smiling, and Nigel returned the bow, his own lips haunted by the ghost of a smile, though the rest of his face remained quite grave. "No, I don't mind at all."

Cyril indicated Vivian with a sweeping gesture of his hand. "Nigel, this is Vivian Meredith. Vivian--" He indicated Nigel with the same gesture, performed by the other hand, so that each of his hands indicated a different boy. "Nigel Atwater."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Meredith." Nigel gave another bow, this one taking the form of a slight inclination of his head.

"Likewise," Vivian returned. "Uh, and you can call me Vivian."

"We can't stay long, I'm afraid, as much as I enjoy your company," said Cyril, the introduction dispensed with. "I wonder, could you do us the favor of showing us to Earnest's room?"

Nigel bit his lower lip at the sound of his step-brother's name, but he said nothing. He nodded, his nod something like another bow, there was such a formality in it, and Vivian wondered at Nigel's ceremonious manner. It was strange coming from someone who was obviously younger than Vivian himself. He turned to go, indicating that they should follow, and Cyril followed him, Vivian following a few steps behind Cyril.

The room that Nigel lead them to was on the top floor, up a winding stairway, at a remove from the rest of the house. A small, cramped room with one window, a bed, a closet, and a great, dark looming bureau which dominated one side of the paltry space. Nothing else. There were no personal artifacts, no decorations, no sign of recent habitation. Vivian examined the room and found it lacking, empty, cold. He could see through the window that the sky had lost its earlier opalescent sheen. The view from Earnest's room was unimpressive: a few trees and some dreary rooftops, nothing more.

"Where are his things?" Cyril asked.

Nigel answered him in the same low voice he had used in the sitting room, although there was no chance of their being overheard here. "His clothes are in the closet. The room's as he left it. He hadn't any things. He never cared for things."

Vivian stood just inside the room, and Nigel was a step back, standing in the doorway. Cyril, however, had gone all the way in, to the center of the little bedchamber. He looked the walls up and down, stared for a few moments at the floor, then at the ceiling. He approached the bed, laid a tentative hand on it, feeling the quilt that covered it, then seated himself there. He tested the mattress with a bounce. Vivian and Nigel watched him curiously. Cyril favored them with a smile. "Do excuse me. I'm just trying to understand something." He rose from the bed and crossed to the menacing dark bureau. He opened all the drawers and looked in them, but he did not appear to find any of their contents particularly interesting. The closet he did not concern himself with, but he did stand at the window and stand staring outside for a few long minutes. When he had done all this, he fixed Nigel with his gaze. "He was always here?"

"When he was home, yes," Nigel admitted. "He'd stay here unless Father dragged him out."

"Which happened how often?"

"Every day, before dinner." Nigel pursed his lips, casting his eyes downwards. Cyril studied the wideness of those eyes, wondering if it was solely the round spectacles he wore which made them so large, or if they were large eyes all on their own. Certainly they were eyes which had seen many things. Did eyes grow large with the things they'd seen? "I didn't see why he couldn't eat dinner in his room, if he wanted." This last was said in a particularly faint voice, indicating that Nigel probably had not said as much to Leigh.

"I'm sure your father wouldn't want anyone to defy his wishes, especially not Earnest."

Nigel nodded, admitting this.

"Do you know," said Cyril, addressing both Nigel and Vivian now, "I have been possessed by the strangest idea. Perhaps it's only a fancy of mine, but I think that one's environment has more of an effect on one's mind than one imagines, that people are influenced by their surroundings as much as they are influenced by their situation or the company they keep. It is my thought that when a person occupies any one place for any great length of time, they begin to take on some of the characteristics of that place. Their mental architecture begins to align itself with the physical architecture they find themselves contained by." He ended this short and unexpected speech with a flourish of his hands. "What do the two of you think?"

Vivian was dubious. "Uh, I don't know. Maybe?"

"I don't see why not," Nigel opined. He still had not entered the room. It seemed he would not, as though something was holding him back, a memory or a ghost.

"If it is true, what does this room say about Earnest?" Vivian demanded.

Cyril made a show of considering Vivian's question with a grave, professorial air, laying a finger against the side of his chin, tilting his head a little to one side. "What it suggests to me, my dear Vivian, is that Earnest has been horribly shortchanged throughout his life."

Nigel did not hesitate. "Yes," he agreed. "That's very true."

Cyril smiled at the boy. "Nigel." He pronounced the name as though it were a benediction. Vivian followed Cyril's gaze and joined him in looking at this curious young person, who carried himself like someone far older than he was. "Teddy told me," Cyril continued. "He told me that you were the one who came to fetch him when Leigh was-- well, was in the process of killing your step-brother." At these words, Vivian drew in a breath and regarded Nigel as with a new respect.

"Oh." Nigel looked down. "He told you that?"

"It was brave of you. To defy your father. You saved Earnest's life."

Nigel snuck a glance over his shoulder, as though to make sure no one was listening, and his voice when he next spoke was as low and even as ever. "Oh no. I didn't do anything. If I'd been brave, I'd have tried to stop him. As it was, I only snuck off to find Uncle Teddy. Father never noticed I'd gone." This boy was weary, Cyril saw. Drained. As though from too many nights without sleep or too many days without ease. "I couldn't-- I couldn't let him die, could I?"

"You didn't," said Cyril.

Nigel sighed, expelling a breath full of his great weariness. Yet was it Cyril's imagination, or did relief flash in his eyes, relief at being able to discuss this with someone? "I always felt very sorry for Earnest." He brightened a little, for a moment was a little younger, more his own age. "But he's all right now? He'll live? He's really staying with you?"

"Yes, he is." As though inspired by that flash of youthfulness, Cyril caught up the boy in an embrace, wrapping one arm around his waist, and with his free hand ruffling the dark, thick waves of Nigel's hair. He gave him a quick squeeze, then released him. Nigel reddened and brought up a hand to smooth his hair back into place. "You can come visit him sometime, if you like? I'm sure we can arrange a way for you to slip away."

His youthful manner fading away as he transformed back into the older man in the body of a young man, Nigel shook his head. "Oh no. No, I'm afraid that's not a good idea. I'd only upset him. Earnest isn't very fond of me."

Cyril nodded. "Ah yes. I can see that." How mistaken Earnest had been, not to see an ally in Nigel. But Nigel was Leigh's own son from a previous marriage, just as Earnest was the son of Leigh's current wife through a previous marriage of her own. Yes, he understood Earnest well enough to see why he wouldn't have liked Nigel, for all that he should have.

"And I couldn't risk Father finding out." Nigel sighed. "I wouldn't be much better off than Earnest if he ever did. He doesn't like anyone to go against him."

Cyril's eyes darkened. "It is a grave injustice that you are forced to live with that man."

Nigel gave a small, philosophical smile. "We can't help the parents we're given. We must simply learn to deal with them. I know how to manage Father. It's only that Earnest never did, so I'm glad you're looking after him now." He paused, slightly pained. "I know it's horrible of me to say, considering, but perhaps it's for the best? That things turned out as they did? Although I wish there had been some less unpleasant impetus for Earnest's going to stay with someone else."

Nigel shook his head, his brows knitting, looking inwards as though watching again an event which had unfolded in the past and now existed only in his memory. "I still can't understand why that boy would have told Father. It was an incredibly cruel thing to do."

Cyril raised his eyebrows. This was the first he'd heard of a boy. He had assumed Leigh had managed to find out about Earnest's dalliances with other boys on his own. "Someone told Leigh about Earnest?" This was an interesting, if alarming piece of news.

"Oh yes." Nigel nodded. "I saw him."

Cyril glanced at Vivian, who had been listening to the entire conversation quietly-- he could be shy around people he didn't know well-- and who now was growing visibly distressed. Cyril wanted to hear more about this boy Nigel spoke of, but he did not want Vivian to hear, as something was beginning to become clear to him, and it was not something Vivian would benefit from knowing about. Quite the contrary. "Viv--"

"I know," Vivian sighed. "You want me to go sit in the stairwell."

Cyril laughed. Was he so transparent, then? He supposed that as Vivian had known him for many years, he was bound to be able to predict him sometimes. "That's right. If you'd be so kind."

Vivian heaved another sigh. "All right. If you say so." Part of him didn't want to hear about it anyway. He'd had enough experience with the awful things people did for no good reason to last him a while. He was glad enough of an excuse to leave Earnest's old room. It wasn't a pleasant place. There was something about the narrowness of it, about the dark bureau towering over everything-- He didn't like it. So Vivian left the room as Nigel stepped inside it at last, keeping his eyes thoughtfully upon Nigel until the door swung shut and hid the other boy from his view.

"Could you tell me more about this boy you mentioned?" Cyril asked Nigel, once they were alone together.

"Oh-- well. Yes, of course. I'd seen the chap before, briefly, although I didn't know his name. They were at school together, I think. A friend of Earnest's. Though certainly not much of a friend. Sort of a broad shouldered, nasty looking person. Well, perhaps I only think he looked nasty because of what he did. When I saw him, he was standing at the door listening." Nigel shuddered. "I could hear Earnest sobbing, and the boy looked at me and smiled. It was awful."

"Did you speak to him?"

"Yes. I mean, he was just standing there, and then Earnest started screaming, and Father was shouting . . . ." Nigel trailed off, the features of his face contracting with disquiet. "So I asked him what was happening."

"What did he say?"

"He said-- he said it was nothing of any consequence. And then he left, and I thought that I should go get Uncle Teddy, because it sounded as though Father was murdering him."

Cyril felt a surge of hatred. He knew who this boy Nigel spoke of must be, and he wished more than anything that he might have the opportunity to meet with him. Or, more precisely, the opportunity to tear him limb from limb. But he was gone now, there was no opportunity, and hopefully he would never return. "I see. Thank you, Nigel. That makes things extraordinarily clear."

"It was only after-- after everything was over that I realized what the boy must have done. Because Father treated me to an interminable lecture about unnatural practices." Nigel's face took on a beleaguered expression, and Cyril thought to himself that someday, when he was older, Nigel would be pushed too far by his father, and Leigh would learn the lad's true mettle. Cyril hoped he would be there to witness that day. "I couldn't care less about Earnest's practices. He didn't deserve that."

"No," said Cyril. "No, he didn't." He took a breath. He took a final look at the room which had been Earnest's horrible home for so long, committing it to memory. The architecture of it. Regardless of whether his theory regarding mental landscapes being influenced by physical ones was correct, he felt he knew Earnest a little better now. He smiled fondly at his other nephew. He knew Nigel better now as well, he reflected. It was a miracle that not one, but two people who were not completely hopeless had come from Leigh's household. "Now, Nigel, you must tell me where you've stowed Buttons. Earnest has been asking after his cat."

"Oh! Is that why you're here?" Nigel laughed, forgetting his sobriety for the first time since Cyril had laid eyes on him. "Father didn't tell me." He shook his head, his laughter short-lived, but a smile still lingering on his lips. "And how did you guess that I'd been looking after Buttons?"

"Because it is clear to me that you are this house's resident savior."

The boy lowered his eyes. "Oh no. I only did what anyone would have done in my place."

"That isn't true, Nigel, and you know it. Most people are idiots and couldn't be bothered; I think you're old enough to realize that."

Nigel gave a little sigh. "I'd like to think that wasn't so."

Cyril shrugged. He wasn't about to argue, however much he ordinarily reveled in arguing. There wasn't time. It was doubtful that Leigh would suffer them to remain in his house for much longer. "Think what you like-- and I will continue to think of you as a great unsung hero."