This story originally appeared in the now out-of-print fanzineSouth of Oz, in 1991. If you haven't seen the Beauty andthe Beast episode Promises of Someday, which introducesFather's long-lost son Devin, the story won't make much sense.Beauty and the Beast and its characters are owned byWitt-Thomas Productions and Republic Pictures. This story ispresented merely for the enjoyment of fans.

Rumble

by BeeDrew

I'm on the water. Shrimp boat, Gulf of Mexico, off the drowsycoast of Alabama. And for once there's no scam, no role I'm supposedto be playing. All they want is muscles and good hands, all I want iscash.

So, for this life anyway, they call me Devin. I'm on deck andnearly alone. Beneath my feet the boat rolls gently at anchor, andother voices are only a mild intrusion on the creak of the riggingand the rush of an offshore breeze. There's the fish odor of theheaped nets, the taste of salt mixing with beer on my tongue. Themoon's glamorous and yellow, stars glittering on the water likesilver minnows, and something larger reflecting brilliantly off theblack surface, twenty feet below me. I think it's Venus.

All this is mine tonight, and my only thought is to tell himabout it. To give it to him, because he can never get it for himself.And behind that, spinning through my memory with all the force of adream, I remember the first time I told him, You can't go with me.I'm leaving you here.

*****

"Uncle! Say uncle!"

It took every ounce of muscle to hold that skinny, furry, writhingbody. My little brother is some kinda wrestler, no doubt about it.Not a kid down here--me included--fights like him. It's like healways knows where to grab, or what the other guy's gonna do next.He's only twelve. I tell you, it's spooky. But no way was Juniorgonna wiggle out of this one. I had 'im in a headlock, and most ofhis body trapped besides.

At least, that's what I thought until Fuzz got one knee to theground and shifted his weight. He snarled as he flipped me right overhis shoulder. Everything tilted, and I saw Pascal's face go by,upside down. I bit my tongue, hard, as I landed on the lopsidedmattress we'd dragged out of someone's trash.

Fuzz was on me in an instant, trying to pin me so I'd be the onesquealing uncle. The Old Man woulda fainted if he'd heard what I saidas I threw my weight--about my only advantage, fighting Fuzz--to oneside and pulled out of the half-Nelson he was trying. Jeez, the kidwas getting better.

The rules were, no claws and no hair-pulling. Other than that, thecalls were up to the referee, but Pascal always forgets the whistleand cheers for whoever's down.

"Get 'im, Vincent! He's coming in from the left--"

Vincent could do without the help. I squeaked out of hischoke-hold and tried to grab his arms, but he's quick, slipped rightout from under me. Once he grows a little, I ain't got a prayer.

So, I'd better give him his lumps now. I gripped his arms, slammedhim over on his stomach and rolled on him before he could squirmaway. Then I scissored my legs around his and got his head and leftshoulder in my own half-Nelson. I held his right arm just below theelbow and twisted it behind him. His chest was chugging like atrain--so was mine--and he had to be half-suffocated behind all thathair.

"Say it, furball." I upped the pressure on his arm, just a little.His muscles were like straining ropes under his skin. He made thatweird growling sound, and honest to God I thought he was gonna riphis arm out of the socket--

"Guys."

Someone at the door. The voice was weak, winded, and I turned tolook. It was Mitch. He whines more than any twelve-year-old ought to,but for once, he had something to complain about. He'd been workedover pretty good.

"Jeez, Mitch--! What happened?" Vincent and I were up off thefloor before Mitch got all the way inside. Pascal helped him over tothe mattress, and he lay down on it, groaning.

"Creebs. The snot-eating creebs!" He was crying, and ashamed ofit, and so flaming mad it was almost funny, except for the purplebulge on his jaw and his black eye. His nose was swollen andbloodied, and he talked like he had a bad cold. He was holding onearm across his ribs, and I didn't know if it was the arm or the ribsthat were busted.

"Who did it, Mitch? What creeps?"

That was Vincent. He was tired, and his voice cracked a little.It's just starting to change. He came up with a handkerchief--trustthe little Papa's boy to have one--and started to dab some of theblood off Mitch's face, but Mitch slapped him away.

"Ooooow. Led be alode," he said, fingering his nose. "Godda ged'em...Sliby liddle jerks!"

"Mitch." I tried to be patient. "Tell us who beat you up. We'llhelp you find 'em."

Mitch groaned again, and stuck a finger in his mouth, exploring aloose tooth. "Three guys. Jubbed me by da playground, stole bysbokes. Dey scared Bolly," he mumbled.

Them. I looked from Pascal to Vincent, saw that they wereremembering the story. It had been an ugly thing, three boys chasingMolly in the park, threatening to pull her dress up. They'd calledher names she hadn't understood. Too young for the street gangs,those three had put themselves in training for it. Luckily Winslowhad been there, just coming back from his mechanic's job Above. Nowthe kids only went up in big groups--or they were supposed to,anyway.

"You were Uptop alone, weren't you?" I said, poking Mitch's arm.He flinched, from the touch or my voice, I didn't know. His eyes, slyand black, darted away.

"I was only godda be ub f 'r a secodd. Deeded sobe cigs. I 'dowdis guy--"

"Dammit, Mitch!" I ignored Vincent's raised eyebrows. "One morescrew-up and Father'll ground all of us. We'll be trapped down herelike rats--"

Aw, jeez. The words were out before I felt Pascal's hand closearound my arm. A heavy breathing silence, and Vincent's eyes likemagnets, dragging in mine and Pascal's. "I'm...sorry, Fuzz." Icouldn't touch him, could hardly look at that muzzled little face,drawn now like an old man's.

"It's all right, Devin." His voice was careful--too careful. Hegave his handkerchief to Mitch and stood up. "What will you do?"

I felt a lick of anger inside, like fire just starting to eatpaper. "Fight," I told him. "We'll fight."

*****

Mitch's arm was either broken or badly sprained, and he was onebig bruise under his clothes. Vincent and I chair-carried him all theway home. We'd been wrestling in a cave that was our clubhouse, kindof--we had the mattress and a few crates and candles and old copiesof Mad magazine. Mostly it was just space, for us to call ourown--too far above the home chambers for the adults to want it, andjust inside the sentry boundaries, so we were allowed there without ababysitter. Perfect, unless you had to lug a hollering Mitch down theSpiral Stair and along two miles of tunnel.

Vincent didn't say a word, even when Mitch complained about the"hair like a gir-ul's" getting in his eyes. Mitch shut up quickenough after I told him I'd blacken his other eye for him if I heardone more squeal.

I don't know why, but whenever there's trouble, and I'm around,and the Old Man's around, I'm in for it. This time was no different.Pascal had gone ahead to warn Father--"You don't know how ithappened, squirt. Got that?"--and we went straight to the hospitalchamber. What with Mitch's bawling, I hadn't had time to think up agood story.

Father's back was to us as we went in. He turned around, took inthe three us with one daunting look--Mitch bloody and sulking, me andVincent sweaty and breathing hard. "Boys," he said, quietly. I feltmyself get about two inches shorter. "Up on the table with him.Vincent, you may go."

Of course. Vincent, you may go. I rolled my eyes. Littlebrother helped me boost Mitch up on the exam table, and then was outlike an eel, the fink.

Father glared at me with those ice-chip eyes. "Would you care toexplain this, Devin?"

"Well--it's like this, we were, um, we were boxing--" I fumbled,and Father'd have nailed me already if he hadn't been busy swabbingMitch's face.

"Id's okay, Debin--ow!--do hard feelings," Mitch said suddenly. Heput on a choirboy face, and held out his good hand for me to shake."I dow you did'd bean to hurd be. Pud 'er dere, buddy."

I stared at him. Father stared at me, eyes narrowed, waiting forme to answer. I wanted to puke. Mitch had me cold, this time. He knewI'd rather take the heat than have the Old Man strand all of usBelow, in dull, deadly, boring safety. Father finally turned away toget a roll of bandage. I took Mitch's hand and squeezed it until Ifelt the tendons crack, and had the satisfaction of watching him pantto keep from yelling.

"Yeah, I'm sorry, Mitch," I managed. "It just got a little out ofhand--"

Father turned back and pinned me with a look that felt like one ofVincent's wrestling holds. "Out of hand! Devin, you've sprained hiswrist, and just look at his face! You're older than he is, and a gooddeal larger, and you ought to know better--"

Father was off and galloping through his favorite speech, the oneon Our Responsibility to Those Younger Than We Are, and all I coulddo was stand there and take it, and watch Mitch smirk at me. By thetime Father'd blown himself out, my ears were scorched, and I'dpulled three weeks of kitchen-monkey duty. Great, just great. Fatherfinally sent me off in disgrace, and I wasted no time getting out ofthere.

"I am gonna get that little twerp for this," I was mumbling as Iremoved myself from the Old Man's presence. I nearly tripped overVincent in the hall. "What do you want?" Nasty, but who cared. He wassitting just outside the door with his knees drawn up and his chinresting on them, listening, calm as you please.

He got up, unfolding himself in that gangly way he'd had since hegot tall. His head was even with my nose, and that wouldn't lastlong.

"Come on," he said, a scratchy half-whisper. "They're in ourchamber."

He was halfway up the tunnel before I had put that together. He'dgotten the gang rounded up and waiting for me, like he already knewwhat I was planning. Jeez, the kid wasn't so bad after all. I caughtup with him and thumped his back.

"Thanks, Fuzz."

He punched me on the arm--hard--and grinned up at me. "No sweat.But don't even think of asking me to take any turns in the kitchenfor you, 'cause I won't."

"Now, Vincent--"

But we'd reached our chamber, where most of the kids old enough totie their shoes and younger than seventeen waited. There were nine ofus, but only seven present, with Mitch hurt and Rebecca off somewhereon her own. She was Mary's little shadow, and didn't run with usmuch. Winslow was the oldest--two years older than me--but he'd hadhis seventeenth Naming Day, and presto! he was grown up. We'd misshim when it came to fighting the punks who'd messed with Mitch. Andthere would be a fight--either that, or we'd all be forbidden to goAbove. No way was I gonna sit still for that.

"Is Mitch okay?" Molly wanted to know. She sat on Vincent's toychest, sucking on the end of one braid. She wore her only pair ofjeans every day now--wouldn't touch a dress--since the boys hadchased her.

"Yeah, he's okay. Banged up a little," I said. I made a big thingout of lighting more candles on the desk, because all of a sudden Ididn't know what to do. This was different from picking sides inkick-the-can. Much different. I'd thought it would be so neat, withWinslow grown up, to be the leader....

But I'd always been fast on my feet, and by the time I was donefiddling with the candles, the plan was there. I turned to face mygang, and found myself looking at them in a different way. Theyweren't just themselves anymore. I was sizing them up asfighters.

Vincent sat Indian-style on his bed, looking at me steadily. Hisfavorite place to sit used to be the windowsill. With the stainedglass behind him and that stillness of his, he looked like a littlegargoyle on a church wall. But he was too big for that now. He'd havebeen the best of us in a fight, but of course he couldn't go.

Pascal had settled down beside Molly, and even though he'sVincent's age, he and Molly both fit on the toy chest. He was asloyal as they come, but he was too small to be much use.

Paco'd be okay. He's thirteen, kind of friendly and slow, but heonly needed to be told what to do and he'd do it, no questions asked.That was how he was raised, before Immigration sent the rest of hisfamily back to Mexico. He only got away because he was in the Tunnelsthe day the agents came.

Then there was Ryan Donahoe. Who knew about him, really. He wasfifteen, with red hair and a temper. He had a family somewhere, he'dtold us that much, but one of the Helpers had found him outside thePort Authority, beat up and robbed. Welcome to New York, and allthat. Still, he didn't want to go back to that family. I thought Icould count on him--at least, on that red-haired temper.

Corky--Brian Corcoran--would do fine. He's thirteen, sort ofovergrown for his age, a Helper's kid who hangs around down here alot. I tell him all the time that he's too pretty to be a guy, withthese sissy black curls and grey eyes like the Old Man's. His dad's abeat-walking neighborhood cop, so Corky's a scrapper, no problem.

That was the gang. I thought about them, and about me, in maybetwo seconds, as they all waited for me to tell them what to do. To bethe leader. I had this flash of nerves, like the sweaty heartthumpingI get when the Old Man makes me stand up and recite all thepresidents. I hate feeling unsure of myself.

The hell with it, I'd just jump in and hope it came out all right."Okay guys, here it is. Those three punks who chased Molly last weekwere back again, and this time they beat up Mitch and took hiscigarettes. We gotta stop 'em. If we don't, Father'll will get windof it, and we'll all have to stay Below, all the time. Are you withme?"

"We could tell my dad," Corky offered, a little uncertainly.

His dad was just one notch below Captain America, in Corky's eyes,and I knew better than to blow off the suggestion, unless I wantedCorky right in my face. "I don't think so," I said, pretending tothink about it. "If we did that, Mitch and Molly might have to talkto the police, and the social workers would get into it. Plus, oncethose scumbags got out of Juvie, they'd back."

That was just common sense, and they all nodded agreement.

"Let's try to handle it ourselves," I said. "If we can't, thenwe'll tell Father. Fair enough?"

They all said that sounded good, even Vincent. I shot him a smile.Things would probably be better for him if we all had to stay Below,but he was still behind me.

"It'll be a rumble," Pascal said, grinning suddenly. I could seeit in his eyes; he was thinking of West Side Story, the Jetsand the Sharks.

I snorted. "It ain't a rumble. We just gotta show these guys theycan't mess with Tunnelkids, and get away with it. Here's what wedo."

*****

I sent them out in pairs, a bigger kid with a smaller kid. Ryanwent by himself. They were supposed to hit specific streets andplaygrounds and corners, all on the lookout for the three punks, allwith one assignment: Find out where they live, what they do all day,where they hang out. School was out for the summer, and there werelots of neighborhood kids Above who could tell us what we needed toknow. Vincent and I played marbles in the clubhouse while we waitedfor the others to report.

He was down on his stomach, flicking his aggy toward my cat's eye,when he finally asked me.

"Devin, do you have to fight them? Can't we all just stay Belowfor awhile?"

He hid behind his bangs, wouldn't look at me as he said it, androlled a couple of marbles around and around between his fingers. Hisclaws made little scratching sounds. The question hung there in thestone chamber like a pendulum, waiting to swing from him to me, andeven though I'd known he'd ask, I couldn't come up with an answer.Because he hadn't asked in front of the others, and I could hear himsaying, behind the words, If you don't fight, if you stay Below, I'mstill one of you. I hated to hurt him, even though he's sometimes apain in the butt.

"No can do, little brother." I tried to keep it casual. "Winslowwarned 'em, and they didn't quit. We gotta show 'em we meanbusiness."

He nodded like he'd figured that, and reached out to sweep all hismarbles into a glassy pile in front of him. "Then, can I go withyou?"

Jeez. That I wasn't expecting. "Come on, Fuzz. You know you can't.It'll be daylight."

He looked up. Those eyes of his, real blue, so normal in a facelike his.... I've thought more than once that his eyes are kind oflike mirrors. I see myself in them: the good parts--when I'm doingthe big brother thing, and I'm his hero--and the bad parts, like whenI've fought with Father or told some awful lie. Today I could see it,written right across his face and swimming in his eyes. I was hurtinghim.

"So what if it's daylight. There won't be any grown-ups there," hepressed, still staring at me. "I'm not afraid."

All of a sudden I was really hacked off, and without meaning to, Istarted yelling at him. "Why do you have to make me say it, huh? Youcan't go Above for the same reason you've never gone. Because they'llsee you, stupid! And if they see you, they might tell someone. Itdoesn't matter that they're only kids, they still got eyes!"

"No one will believe them!" he yelled back. He was as mad as Iwas. "I'd be the best! I'd scare them. I almost beat you wrestlingtoday, and if I used my claws--"

"Vincent!" Now it was him hurting me. Making me tell him no,making me cage him up Below, like I was so determined Father wouldn'tdo to me. I got up, and kicked the marbles from between his hands, sothat they rattled off into the dark comers beyond our lantern light."You can't go with me!" I told him. "I'm leaving you here. It'sagainst the rules for you to go Uptop during the day."

He sat up, glaring at me, and his eyes went to slits. I've neverseen him look more like a cat. "Oh, and sneaking Above isn't againstthe rules? Fighting isn't against the rules?"

"What, you gonna tell?" I reached down and grabbed the back of hisshirt, hauled him to his feet.

He growled, put both hands to my chest and shoved me back, hard."Maybe I will! Why should I have to follow the rules, and notyou?"

"Because they're for the same thing!" I wanted to shake him, but Ididn't quite dare. He might be right about the wrestling, and he wasdefinitely right about the claws. "Father says you can't go Aboveduring the day, to keep you safe. I'm going to beat up those punks tokeep all us kids safe. It‚s the same thing."

That got him. I saw him shrink a little, duck his head. I kepttalking. "It's our world down here, Fuzz. But it's our world upthere, too. I'm not giving it up. Maybe Father wouldn't understand,and maybe you can't, because you have to stay down here, and thatstinks. But I've gotta fight for Above, same as I would forBelow."

There was a long, stretched sort of moment when I was sure he wasstill mad, and would go running to tell Father. But then he sighed,and his shoulders slumped. "I understand. And you're right, Fatherwouldn't. If he did, it'd mean they'd come down here. I guess I'd getto fight then."

"I guess you would, Fuzz." For a second I felt cold all down myspine, watching the lantern's light pick out the tips of his clawsagainst his white shirt. If he ever really let go, ever really cutloose....

"So you won't tell?" I asked him. Was this what Father felt like,every time he told Vincent he couldn't go Above--sort of mean andsorry, and angry at the world? Fuzz was going to have to fight somuch harder than all the rest of us, just to grow up.

"I won't tell," he said. "Promise."

"Cross your heart, hope to die, stick a needle in your eye?"

He looked up at me, cocked his head, and grinned a little. "Gimmea break, Devin. I'm too old for that."

"Oh, yeah? We'll see, small fry!"

I jumped on him, and we wrestled and yelled and called each othernames, until the others got back. I was tempted to let him pinme.

But, naw. He'd be beating me soon enough.

*****

I squinted into the red afternoon sun, watching as Molly signaled.She crossed her arms over her head twice, and then ducked back intothe doorway where she was hiding. She'd insisted on being lookout,and it was easier not to argue.

"They're coming!" I hissed over my shoulder. "Pascal, Paco--move.Back end of the alley."

The whole thing really couldn't have gone easier. The three wewere after--they went by Razzman, Floater, and Jack on thestreet--spent most of their time at a movie theater near TimesSquare. They headed home after the afternoon matinee, and usuallytook a shortcut through a small alley we knew. Someone'd junked aVolkswagen at one end; we dragged it sideways to block the exit, withPascal and Paco to cover it. We had ourselves a box canyon, and anambush.

Me, Corky, and Ryan hung around the comer just up from the alley,leaning on a telephone pole and trying to look like we were justshooting the breeze. We watched the three of them come around thecomer, scanning the street like they owned it, whistling at thechicks. Just like the cops, they had their "uniforms"--raggedy jeans,T-shirts, and oily matador boots.

The big one was Floater; he had to be at least fifteen. Razzmanwas short but solid, and Jack looked like a rake with a head. Theypassed us without a second look, too busy catcalling at a girl in ahot-pink miniskirt to notice us. We waited until they were inside thealley before we moved.

They saw our shadows before they saw us--three thin giants lyingon the pavement. At the same time, Paco and Pascal stepped out frombehind the Volkswagen and stood on either side of it, not moving.

Floater jerked around, kind of hunching down like a guard dog on ascent. "Hey. What is this?"

The other two were frozen, looking from one end of the alley tothe other. Floater grinned, and relaxed a little.

"We-e-ll," he drawled. "Looks like that candy-ass sent his friendsto get his cigs back. Ain't it a shame, we smoked every lastone."

Out of nowhere, looking into the bleached blue of Floater's eyes,I suddenly felt a little sick. This was the plan, just like I'dwanted it, but I kept seeing this image of Floater, holdingCorky‚s shirt in one hand and pounding his face in with theother. My gut was churning, but it didn't matter, not anymore. I'dgone too far.

I took a step, drew their attention to me. "Forget the cigarettes.We're after something else."

"Yeah?" one of them said. It was Razzman, white teeth flaring inhis brown face. "C'mere, boy, and I'll give it to you."

"You won‚t." I kept my voice quiet, so it wouldn't shake."You and your friends are gonna leave me and my friends alone, afterthis."

"We are?" Floater again. Already fingering his belt, which had aheavy-looking buckle. He was the one to watch. "You tell your friendhe's got no business scoring cigarettes or anything else on ourstreet. He gets out of our action, maybe we'll leave him alone."

"You'll leave him alone anyway," I said, moving closer, watchinghis eyes go narrow and pig-mean. Ryan and Corky flanked me on eitherside, and I knew I could trust them like I trusted my hands. But Istill felt sick.

"We don't want your street, or your action," I told him. "You justlet us come and go, leave us alone. Or we'll come after you. That'sall."

Floater grinned, and shoved, stringy blonde hair off his forehead."You ain't scared me yet, man."

"No?" I grinned right back at him. "I'd be scared, if I robbedGarcia's newsstand last week, and the cops didn't know about it. I'dbe scared, if some guys that didn't like me knew my hideout was theback of Barney's, down on 56th, where my father works as a janitor.I'd be scared, if those same guys knew I was doing deliveries twice aweek for a pusher who works the Square." All true, and all courtesyof our little fact-finding mission yesterday. I saw Floater's eyesshift quickly to his friends and then back to me. I'd shaken him.

Still he smiled, stuffed his hands in his pockets and rocked backon his heels. "So, let's just say I'm scared. Let's just say I'mlistening. How'm I s'pose to know who's your guy, and who's not?"

"You'll know." I wasn't falling for that; these three were a partof the streets. They could mark us, even if they didn't know where welived.

"Yeah, we'll know, 'cause you all dress outta my mama's ragbag!"Razzman tossed out. He spat right at my feet, and I felt Ryanstarting to go for him. My hand shot out, slapped against Ryan'sstomach. I locked my eyes on Floater's.

"Well?" I said. "This how it's gonna play?"

The skinny guy, Jack, was getting a little nervous. His eyesflicked from me and Ryan and Corky back to where Paco and Pascalstood on either side of the Volkswagen, watching. "Floater, there'sfive of 'em," he said.

"Yeah, so? Big man, coming after three guys with five," Floatersneered at me.

And suddenly I saw it; I saw how to blank out the image of Floatermessing up Corky. I knew what to do. And that sick feeling was gone."Y'know, you're right." I looked around, as though I'd only justcounted heads. "Three against five, doesn't sound fair. So what doyou say, Floater? How about just you and me?"

"Devin--!" Ryan, on my left, started to protest, but was drownedout by a hoot from Razzman.

"Dev-in!" he crowed. "Boys, his name is Dev-in." He put one handon his hip and struck a pose. "Ain't that cute?"

I ignored him, stayed focused on Floater. He was sizing me up, andfrom the glint in his eye, he thought his chances were good. He wasprobably right.

"How about it, yellow-belly?" I said, knowing that was all itwould take.

Yep. He lunged at me, big hands reaching, and I backpedaled,grabbing for one thick arm as he got close. I swung him so that hisforward motion carried him right into the brick wall at my back.

"Cool! Get on him, Dev! Get on him!" Corky screamed.

Floater grunted and staggered for an instant, blood welling fromscrapes on his face, before he recovered and came at me again. Idodged his first wild swing easily. Dimly I saw the others form arough circle. Paco and Pascal--even Molly, darn her--ran up to jointhem. The voices became one loud baying.

"Stand still, you little pansy!" Floater bellowed as he charged.This time I wasn't as quick as I shoulda been. His fist crashed intothe left side of my face; the other followed, jabbing under my ribs.I doubled over--felt like my eye had exploded--gush of warm salt inmy mouth. Blood. He grabbed my shirt just as I kicked him square inthe stomach, and we both went down.

Worst thing that could've happened. He outweighed me by twentypounds and had a good five inches on me, even though he couldn'tbreathe at the moment. I grabbed for the wall and tried to pull usup, but he went for my throat, wheezing anger through clenched teeth.Just as his hands closed, I let myself fall, caught at a handful ofhis hair and wrenched his head to one side. With everything I had, Ichopped at his corded neck. He gagged; I felt spit spray my face justbefore he landed on me, driving all the air out of my lungs. Then hegave me the pounding of my life.

Oh, God...Roll, Devin...twist...shoulder braced; shove him up andover...cross-punch, knee in the gut, try to get him down...arm acrosshis neck, pin the legs, get leverage, go for the hold...Jee-e-z, thishurts...

Something weird happened. Everything blurred. The fiery sunlightdimmed to Tunnel gold and the blood-hot body struggling under me wassmaller, somehow, than me, though Floater definitely wasn't. It wasVincent I wrestled, only not Vincent, and I was myself, only I washim, inhumanly fast, full of a wiry, renewing strength I'd never hadbefore. Floater's reach was longer, he had more weight, moremuscle--but he'd never wrestled Vincent. He'd never wrestled mylittle brother.

My hands were right where Floater was, gripping tight and neverletting go, like animal jaws. He flailed, cursing, but I had himeverywhere, I had him pinned. He was flat on his stomach, eatingdirt, with my knee is his back. I was twisting one arm behind him andscreaming, "Enough? Had enough?"

It might have ended there. It just might, if Razzman hadn'tcheated. From the comer of my eye I saw the thing flash, heard itchink against the pavement and roll toward us, and for just aninstant--one tiny instant--I was distracted, and loosened my grip onFloater's wrist. Sweat-slicked, his skin twisted under mine; I feltmy nails gouging out flesh, but it was too late.

That's how it is in wrestling. You might have your man dead to theground, caught six different ways--legs locked, head and neck firm,both arms powerless. But you lose one point of pressure, give up anypart of the hold--and the whole thing falls apart. Floater got onehand flat to the ground, shoved backward and tossed me off him. Thenhe snatched up the knife Razzman had thrown, and it was a whole newfight.

I got up, joined the slow circling dance he'd begun. Breathinghurt. Everything looked funny, off-kilter, and I realized I wasseeing with my right eye only; the left had swelled shut. Devin youare so stupid, of course they'd have knives, you brought them allAbove and there's a knife in his hand, the Old Man's right,irresponsible, stupid, stupid....

A gap had opened in the circle of watchers where Razzman had been.Ryan had decked him. He lay moaning and rolling from side to side.Blood trickled between the fingers he pressed to his nose. I had tostep over him, stumbling a little because I couldn't spare a glanceat my feet. Winslow had told me: "Never forget--in a knife fight,watch the face, not the knife. When the eyes move, you move."

Which was fine, except that Winslow had never fought Floater,whose fighting style was brute strength, never mind finesse. He baredhis teeth, shifted the knife to his left hand and came in with aroundhouse right. I ducked, but that side of my face feltballoon-sized already; even the kiss of a blow he landed sent me halfcrazy with pain. When I could see again, when the roaring in my earssubsided so I could hear my own sobs for breath, he had me backagainst a wall, ready to open my throat. He laughed like a girl, andpulled the knife hand back.

Here it comes, I thought. I'll never know if he really meant tokill me, or just scare me. The knife was silver and black, rushing atme like a subway out of a tunnel. Behind it there was the redkindling of Ryan's hair and the wide black smear of Paco's mouth,open in a scream. And when the howl began, I thought it was him.

Long, full-throated, crawling along the nerves until sweat brokeout, the cry bounced off the brick walls and the pavement and ourears. Something like a child shrieking; more like a leashed animal'sgrowl; it had teeth and claws, and it was all around us. Vincent.

"Je-e-sus!" Floater‚s head whipped around, instinctivelylooking for the threat. His muscles let go, just a little, enoughthat I could jerk out of his grip and dodge to one side. His knifeglanced off my arm, slicing a line of heat there, but I was alreadyturning. I grabbed Floater's knife-hand in both of mine, and drove itagainst the brick. His fingers broke with a wet crunch, and hedropped at my feet like a stone, and now the scream was his.

For a few dazed seconds I just stood there, holding up the wall,watching my enemy flop like a beached fish on the blacktop. My eyeswent to Jack, the only one of them still standing.

"Enough?" My voice was raspy, barely there, and a black ringpressed around my vision. Dammit, don't pass out. Don't lose itnow....

Jack's eyes were flicking madly from left to right, as he watchedRyan and Corky closing on him. "Yeah, man. Yeah. Enough!" He threw uphis hands to ward them off. "We're going." He took a step towardFloater, then hesitated, looking at me.

"'So go, already." I swore to myself I wouldn't puke until theywere out of sight. Jack hauled Floater up by his uninjured arm--don'tknow how he managed it, since Floater was no help at all--and kickedat Razzman until he got to his feet. The three of them moved off, atruly sorry-looking bunch, and we let them go.

Only when they rounded the comer did I sag to my knees, and spewout everything I'd eaten that day, and then some.

"Oh, yuck," Molly said. Ryan pulled at me; I started to jerk awaybefore I saw that he was tying a bandana around my cut. The tinymuscles of my throat still worked at retching, and my knees shook. Ididn't think I could get up if I tried. Ryan knelt beside me, andgently pulled one of my arms across his shoulders.

Except that the shoulders were too bony to be Ryan's, and the bodythat lifted me was inches too short. Bleary eyed, I peered down intoa hooded, familiar face.

"Aw jeez! Vincent, of all the stupid--guys! Hide him!"

And they did, closing in like an honor guard. The entrance wasn'tthat far, and no one could have seen anything, what with all thebodies and Vincent wearing his cloak. Still, I methodically calledhim every name I could think of as he half-dragged, half-carried mealong the tunnel that led north, toward home. "Idiot, bonehead, dogbreath, lamebrain mouth-breather--"

"Devin," he said, squeezing me around the chest so I had to shutup, to breathe. "You never said I couldn't watch from the fireescape. You weigh a ton, and you smell awful. I love you."

There wasn't a whole lot I could say to that.

*****

I probably could have lied my way clear if Floater hadn't cut me.The bruises, even my face--I could say I fell, took a header on theSpiral Stair, was carrying something heavy from Above. But the cutnixed it, and I was just too tired to think of anything to tellFather.

Of course, right at first I didn't have to say a thing. The otherstrailed after us as far as the inner chambers, but slipped away oneby one, the closer we got to Father's study. We paused in thedoorway. Vincent was too short of breath to talk, and I, for once,had nothing to say.

Father turned. He'd been scratching on his maps like always, witha candle in one hand for extra light. He dropped it right into histea cup, and never noticed, when he saw us. "Devin! My God. Vincent,over here, quickly!" Father was across the room in two strides--heeven forgot his cane--and bent over us as Vincent eased me into achair. Was that...was that fear I saw on the Old Man's face? Forme?

"Get my bag, Vincent. Then run for Mary."

Father's hands weren't especially gentle, and he found all theplaces that hurt. The cut was more for show than anything else...myeyes were all right...I might have a bit of a concussion even thoughmy head was made of granite...my ribs were only bruised.... All thisI got from his muttering as he looked me over. He finallystraightened up, and I saw the first hint of displeasure on hisface.

"You appear to be intact, though somewhat the worse for wear," hesaid, frowning as he began to tend my cut. "How did all thishappen?"

I said a quick prayer for inspiration. "Well, I was Above--"

I'll say one thing for Fuzz, you can't fault his timing. Hearrived with Mary in tow just as I was heading for deep water. Shestarted to fuss, and Father started calming her down, and Vincent gotsent to fetch me a new shirt. By the time Father realized he'd neverhad an answer, Mary was standing behind my chair, pressing two coldcloths to the bruises on either side of my face, and I couldn't say aword.

Vincent arrived, out of breath, holding the shirt. Father roundedon him. "Vincent. Suppose you tell me how this happened to yourbrother, hmm?"

My eyes locked on Vincent's in horrified desperation. Fuzz wouldnever lie to Father, I knew that for a fact--he'd gotten me introuble more than once. But after all I'd been through, if Fatherfound out and grounded us all Below....

Vincent opened his mouth, and I cringed. This was it. Facing theOld Man this time would be worse--well, almost as bad--as slugging itout with Floater. I'd never see the light of day again. I'd betwenty-one before Father'd let me out of my chamber, much less Above.I groaned, and Mary made little sympathy sounds, thinking it was myface that hurt.

Then Vincent spoke.

"Father, it happened so fast! Devin was in the alley--the boy hada knife. It was one of the ones who chased Molly. I couldn't help'cause it was daylight! The boy punched Devin and they had a fight.He was bigger than Devin and he hit and hit. Devin got him down withhis knee in his back and then--"

"Vincent," Father interrupted. "Where were you when all this tookplace?"

Fuzz's eyes dropped to the floor, and he scuffed at nothing withone toe. "I was--I was as on the fire escape by the entrance. I justwanted to see where Devin was going. I had my hood. No one sawme."

Father positively inflated with rage. "Son, do you mean to tell methat you went outside the tunnels during the day?"

"But Father, I didn't go far--"

I closed my eyes. Without Mary's hands on my face, I would havegrinned like a fool. Beautiful, just beautiful! Fuzz had danced hisway out of that one like a pro, and brought it all down on his ownhead. I couldn't believe it. Maybe I had taught the kid a thing ortwo.

Somehow in the next couple of minutes, as Mary helped me into theclean shirt and told me to keep the cloths on my face to make theswelling go down, all my kitchen chores found their way to Vincent. Iwas pretty sure I'd get my share later, because Father was bound toremember that I wasn't supposed to be Above "alone." But for now, Ijust had to play the wounded invalid.

No problem.

"Vincent, I'm very disappointed in you," Father said. He'd beenworking over me all along, and he'd finished his doctoring along withhis lecture. "I had thought you understood the rules. We'll talk somemore, but for now I want you to take care of your brother. Help himback to your chamber so he can rest."

"Yes, Father." Vincent came and pulled me out of the chair by mygood arm, glaring at me, with his back to Father. I tried to lookreally pathetic, but I don't think he bought it. We limped out of thestudy the same way we came in. Vincent didn't say a word, even afterwe were out of parental earshot. I cleared my throat.

"Uh, Fuzz, I'm sorry about the kitchen duty. I'll make it up toyou--"

He sighed. "Never mind. Knowing you, I'd have ended up doing someof it anyway."

We stumped on down the tunnel, looking like the losers in athree-legged race. I was really beginning to feel bad. "Look, if youwant, I'll tell Father what really happened. Maybe he'll understand,maybe--" I floundered. "I just can't believe you lied to him!"

Vincent sucked in an outraged breath. "I did not! I wouldn't lieto Father. I just...I just started the story in the middle."

I stopped dead. Vincent didn't have a choice, with me hanging offhis shoulder; he stopped too, and looked at me. There was somethingdeep down in his eyes, some devilish little light.... And all of asudden I was laughing, and it hurt like the hell, but it felt goodtoo.

"Thanks, Fuzz. You're the best."

*****

He was, too. Still is. I miss him. Only went back once intwenty years, but I do miss him. Sometimes I tell myself, I'm doingall this for both of us, but inside I know that's a crock. It's justme on the deck of this boat.

It's late now. The wind off the water's grown cold, and my beerwarm. He's my brother. I love him, but a few months ago, I left himbehind again.

I probably always will.

End