Dirtier, part 8
Dec. 2nd, 2008 10:38 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rabidsamfan"Hey, Mister, wait up!" Sam looked up from the plan he was writing to see who his younger brother was annoying now. But for once Peanut's motives seemed to be pure. "You've got a hole in your bag and all your stuff's falling out!"
The tall man on the crutches stopped and swung around, looking at the pill bottle that Peanut was holding up with an expression that Sam mentally classified as "sheer dismay." Not that Peanut didn't inspire terror in grownups, but that was usually only after they'd realized that the angelic face and crown of whiteblond curls hid the most innocuously devious mind in Kingston-upon-Thames. There wasn't anything Peanut wouldn't try, up to and including crawling under the chairs at meetings to tie all the grownups' shoelaces together. Three and a half years head-start just barely gave Sam enough of an edge to head off the worst disasters -- it was convenient having a Moriarty to blame his own missteps on -- but he and the others had learned long since that it was better to have some idea what Peanut was up to, even if it meant letting him tag along on far too many afternoons. Not that Peanut had ever read Sherlock Holmes!
"Watson, what do you make of our visitor?" Sam asked, and the other members of the Superlative Six and a Half (Sam had chosen the name himself after a spelling test last term, because the others had complained that "Baker Street Irregulars" didn't make sense if you didn't live on Baker Street) shifted around on the school steps to look where he was pointing. If nothing else, the man on crutches was a stranger, and that was good practice for deducing things.
"Whose turn is it to be Watson today?" Florrie asked. "I was Watson yesterday."
"I think it's mine," Peter (who had been Second Peter until First Peter had been sent off to boarding school) pushed his glasses back up his nose. "I think he was in an accident."
"Something about the crutches and the bandage on his head, right?" From anyone but Annie that would have been sarcasm, but she hadn't been allowed to play for very long and was making heavy work out of "A Study in Scarlet."
"Yeah," Peter said. "And I think he needs rescuing."
"I think we'd better get over there before Peanut tries eating some of those pills," Tinpot said, tipping the old army helmet that was the source of his nickname up away from his eyes for the four millionth time. He wore it to avoid being called Tiny Tim, since he suffered the indignity of being the smallest boy in not only his own class, but the one below. Even Peanut had topped him now, and needed to be scorned as an infant at every opportunity, which Sam allowed as he thought it salutary for both of them.
"I'll watch the stuff," Orly volunteered, predictably, his gaze already straying back into his comic. Sam stuffed the Holmes notebook into his jacket and shoved it under Orly's knees for safekeeping, figuring that even Orly would notice if one of the allotment kids tried to go after it there. The others abandoned their school satchels without precautions. No one was going to steal schoolwork.
"It's got something hanging out of it, see?" Sam ran, but it was too late. He watched with a sense of imminent disaster as his younger brother tugged hard on something that was protruding from the bottom corner of the man's paper bag, breaking it open and sending papers, pill-bottles, a wallet, coins, and other small objects scattering across the sidewalk and into the street. Peanut was left holding up a lady's brassiere tangled up with a man's green tie. "Oooo-er!"
"Peanut!" Sam grabbed the embarrassing things away with one hand while he clapped a hand over his brother's mouth to prevent him from saying anything that might make the situation worse. "Sorry about that, Mister. He's an idiot." He crumpled the bra and tie up into his own hand as well as he could and held them out. "Here's your... er... um..."
"We'll pick up your stuff," Florrie volunteered hastily. "Tinpot, Peter, give me a hand." Both boys started scrambling after the fallen goods gratefully, and Peanut twisted himself loose to join them.
"I'll get a new bag to put it all into," Annie said, ducking off hastily.
Which left Sam facing the man alone. He was a tall man, probably six foot, with dark curly hair sticking out from a bandage that had been wrapped round his head and fading bruises on his face and hands as well as a heavily bandaged knee visible through the carefully undone seam of his trousers. Around thirty, Sam guessed, although the sudden rush of pink to his face made him look younger. The blue-grey eyes flickered down to Sam's hand and then up again, and the man laughed uncertainly. "Thanks," he said, holding out a hand that trembled.
"Maybe you'd best sit down while we get your things," Sam said, as the man stuffed the bits of clothing into a jacket pocket. "You look shaky."
"Do I?" the man asked, but he let Sam lead him into the schoolyard. Sam, who wasn't sure what he'd do if the man actually did tip over, looked around to see if there was anyone who might help, but the only grownups in sight were two of the oldest old lady teachers yakking in the car park and a man who ducked back behind a van the moment he realized that Sam was looking in his direction. There were plenty of kids running around, but Sam wasn't sure that any of them were big enough except for Toad and Toad wasn't usually very helpful. Luckily, nothing happened and Sam got his man safely to the bench just as Peter called for him.
"Be right back," Sam said. He darted back, feeling oddly reluctant to leave the man alone. "What is it?"
"We've got trouble. There's six medicines listed on this paper," Peter said, tapping a sheet of handwritten notes. "But I only count three bottles."
"Turn out your pockets, Peanut," Tinpot ordered.
"I'm not that dumb," Peanut protested. "They must've fallen out the hole before he got here."
"Yeah," Sam agreed. Peanut didn't look innocent enough to be lying. "Go back the way he came and see if you can't find them before one of of the little kids does."
Peanut beamed. "Right!" he said, dumping his armful of oddments into Sam's arms and dashing off.
"Tinpot..."
"I'm not the babysitter," Tinpot grumbled, but he followed suit, forcing Sam to try to balance everything until Florrie came to the rescue, taking some of it to add to the things she'd collected in the upturned bottom of her sweater.
Peter was still puzzling out the paper.
"Just six medicines, then?" Sam asked.
"I think so," Peter bit his lip. "Sam... what's this word mean?" He thrust the paper at Sam and Florrie crowded over to look too.
"What word?" Sam asked, but before Peter could answer Florrie shoved Peter's finger out of the way and the word leaped out from the rest.
Amnesia.
Florrie whistled softly and Sam swallowed hard, feeling as if he'd come out into a world of sudden bright snow. Excited, but cold too.
"Come on," Peter said insistently. "What does it mean?"
"It means we've got a mystery on our hands, Watson," Sam said, looking back to the man who was sitting on the bench. He'd settled in like he was tired, leaning on one hand propped elbow to knee while his other supported the crutches. "A proper mystery, at last!"
The tall man on the crutches stopped and swung around, looking at the pill bottle that Peanut was holding up with an expression that Sam mentally classified as "sheer dismay." Not that Peanut didn't inspire terror in grownups, but that was usually only after they'd realized that the angelic face and crown of whiteblond curls hid the most innocuously devious mind in Kingston-upon-Thames. There wasn't anything Peanut wouldn't try, up to and including crawling under the chairs at meetings to tie all the grownups' shoelaces together. Three and a half years head-start just barely gave Sam enough of an edge to head off the worst disasters -- it was convenient having a Moriarty to blame his own missteps on -- but he and the others had learned long since that it was better to have some idea what Peanut was up to, even if it meant letting him tag along on far too many afternoons. Not that Peanut had ever read Sherlock Holmes!
"Watson, what do you make of our visitor?" Sam asked, and the other members of the Superlative Six and a Half (Sam had chosen the name himself after a spelling test last term, because the others had complained that "Baker Street Irregulars" didn't make sense if you didn't live on Baker Street) shifted around on the school steps to look where he was pointing. If nothing else, the man on crutches was a stranger, and that was good practice for deducing things.
"Whose turn is it to be Watson today?" Florrie asked. "I was Watson yesterday."
"I think it's mine," Peter (who had been Second Peter until First Peter had been sent off to boarding school) pushed his glasses back up his nose. "I think he was in an accident."
"Something about the crutches and the bandage on his head, right?" From anyone but Annie that would have been sarcasm, but she hadn't been allowed to play for very long and was making heavy work out of "A Study in Scarlet."
"Yeah," Peter said. "And I think he needs rescuing."
"I think we'd better get over there before Peanut tries eating some of those pills," Tinpot said, tipping the old army helmet that was the source of his nickname up away from his eyes for the four millionth time. He wore it to avoid being called Tiny Tim, since he suffered the indignity of being the smallest boy in not only his own class, but the one below. Even Peanut had topped him now, and needed to be scorned as an infant at every opportunity, which Sam allowed as he thought it salutary for both of them.
"I'll watch the stuff," Orly volunteered, predictably, his gaze already straying back into his comic. Sam stuffed the Holmes notebook into his jacket and shoved it under Orly's knees for safekeeping, figuring that even Orly would notice if one of the allotment kids tried to go after it there. The others abandoned their school satchels without precautions. No one was going to steal schoolwork.
"It's got something hanging out of it, see?" Sam ran, but it was too late. He watched with a sense of imminent disaster as his younger brother tugged hard on something that was protruding from the bottom corner of the man's paper bag, breaking it open and sending papers, pill-bottles, a wallet, coins, and other small objects scattering across the sidewalk and into the street. Peanut was left holding up a lady's brassiere tangled up with a man's green tie. "Oooo-er!"
"Peanut!" Sam grabbed the embarrassing things away with one hand while he clapped a hand over his brother's mouth to prevent him from saying anything that might make the situation worse. "Sorry about that, Mister. He's an idiot." He crumpled the bra and tie up into his own hand as well as he could and held them out. "Here's your... er... um..."
"We'll pick up your stuff," Florrie volunteered hastily. "Tinpot, Peter, give me a hand." Both boys started scrambling after the fallen goods gratefully, and Peanut twisted himself loose to join them.
"I'll get a new bag to put it all into," Annie said, ducking off hastily.
Which left Sam facing the man alone. He was a tall man, probably six foot, with dark curly hair sticking out from a bandage that had been wrapped round his head and fading bruises on his face and hands as well as a heavily bandaged knee visible through the carefully undone seam of his trousers. Around thirty, Sam guessed, although the sudden rush of pink to his face made him look younger. The blue-grey eyes flickered down to Sam's hand and then up again, and the man laughed uncertainly. "Thanks," he said, holding out a hand that trembled.
"Maybe you'd best sit down while we get your things," Sam said, as the man stuffed the bits of clothing into a jacket pocket. "You look shaky."
"Do I?" the man asked, but he let Sam lead him into the schoolyard. Sam, who wasn't sure what he'd do if the man actually did tip over, looked around to see if there was anyone who might help, but the only grownups in sight were two of the oldest old lady teachers yakking in the car park and a man who ducked back behind a van the moment he realized that Sam was looking in his direction. There were plenty of kids running around, but Sam wasn't sure that any of them were big enough except for Toad and Toad wasn't usually very helpful. Luckily, nothing happened and Sam got his man safely to the bench just as Peter called for him.
"Be right back," Sam said. He darted back, feeling oddly reluctant to leave the man alone. "What is it?"
"We've got trouble. There's six medicines listed on this paper," Peter said, tapping a sheet of handwritten notes. "But I only count three bottles."
"Turn out your pockets, Peanut," Tinpot ordered.
"I'm not that dumb," Peanut protested. "They must've fallen out the hole before he got here."
"Yeah," Sam agreed. Peanut didn't look innocent enough to be lying. "Go back the way he came and see if you can't find them before one of of the little kids does."
Peanut beamed. "Right!" he said, dumping his armful of oddments into Sam's arms and dashing off.
"Tinpot..."
"I'm not the babysitter," Tinpot grumbled, but he followed suit, forcing Sam to try to balance everything until Florrie came to the rescue, taking some of it to add to the things she'd collected in the upturned bottom of her sweater.
Peter was still puzzling out the paper.
"Just six medicines, then?" Sam asked.
"I think so," Peter bit his lip. "Sam... what's this word mean?" He thrust the paper at Sam and Florrie crowded over to look too.
"What word?" Sam asked, but before Peter could answer Florrie shoved Peter's finger out of the way and the word leaped out from the rest.
Amnesia.
Florrie whistled softly and Sam swallowed hard, feeling as if he'd come out into a world of sudden bright snow. Excited, but cold too.
"Come on," Peter said insistently. "What does it mean?"
"It means we've got a mystery on our hands, Watson," Sam said, looking back to the man who was sitting on the bench. He'd settled in like he was tired, leaning on one hand propped elbow to knee while his other supported the crutches. "A proper mystery, at last!"
