Oliver Twisted

Roche

"Be back tonight" quickly turned into two days, then three.

Reggie knew any concern for his uncle was likely squandered. Ed had no grasp of time, especially when he was having fun. Really, he hadn't much of a grasp on anything.

But there was an itch at the back of Reggie's mind. A shapeless what if.

Four days into Ed's absence, it took shape. A knock came at the door. When Reggie drew to answer, he noticed the silhouette in the screen. Two heads on the same set of shoulders. It wasn't an illusion.

His eyes flashed wide. He ran to the door and tore it open.

"Did something happen at the circus?" he pressed.

Celine shook her head, but her eyes were still cloudy and troubled. Trixie was flushed paler than he'd ever seen her.

"There was a riot, up in Alvany. Three nights ago," Celine panted. "Freddy sicced the bluecoats on the rioters. A couple dozen were killed. The list of names was released today in the papers, and Mindy said mail delivery didn't run out here anymore so... We didn't wanna be the ones to tell you, but—" She handed him the paper cradled in her arm.

He took it and reluctantly scanned the names. By then, he'd already caught on. There were only so many conclusions to come to.

There, sixteenth down, it was confirmed.

Edward Farris, 54.

Reggie swallowed. "He..." the words seemed to stick between his teeth, "He didn't tell me this was what he was going to town for. He said a woman—"

Twentieth down.

Adeline Bandy, 32.

A woman's name was on the list. While it didn't verify anything, it was certainly suspicious. And even more suspicious was the proximity. On lists of the dead, names usually appeared in the order of discovery.

She was close to him, Reggie sighed. He likely went along for her.

He gave the paper a half-minded flick.

Rest in peace, you old pervert.

His thoughts were a marriage of caustic sincerity. Certainly Ed hadn't been uncle of the year, but he had allowed Reggie a landing pad, a roof, food. It was more than most of the tagalongs had. More than Mouse could dream of.

"So what now?" the boy asked, out loud. "Should I come back to the circus?"

"Mindy knew you'd ask that," Trixie pitched in. "She said no. The heat's still on, and she'd like you to stay here, for now. The King hasn't sent anyone yet, but he's still threatening to. If we're invaded, she at least wants you to be okay."

A flash of heat hit Reggie's cheeks. "How can she say that?" he muttered. "Knowing how I feel, how can she possibly ask me to—"

"I'll talk to her," Celine cut in, quietly. "We miss you too, yanno." Her eyes found her feet. "Anything beats dying of loneliness out here, huh?"

In the meantime, Reggie drove himself back to Alvany. He knew claiming Ed's body was a longshot; but Ed's little shanty was too quiet without its motormouthed keeper. The air itself felt strangled.

At least with Cort and the others nearby, he would have someone to talk to.

It must've been halfway there that it hit—he was now an orphan, two times over. And he likely stood alone, in that regard. Being the most unfortunate in a pack of unfortunates certainly wasn't great for morale. And to lend insult to injury, there would be no helping hand from the government. No one would care to check on the welfare of a rebel brat. The stigma had already attached, surely. Were it up to them, he'd be stranded in Ed's airless shanty forever, left to fend for himself.