SEEKING THAT WHICH IS LOST

CHAPTER 1

London. 1933.

The village of Walthamstow, nestled snugly in its patch of North-East London, had gone to bed for the evening.

The Crooked Billet pub was switching off the last of its lights on this frostbitten night, and the tramway offices had long since closed. The terrace houses on every street from Valentin Road to Chapel End were locked up tight, every family battening down the hatches to stave off the dark world beyond their front doors.

The red brick homes adjacent to the Walthamstow train tracks were rattled, as usual, by a steam train thundering through the borough. The residents of these houses were used to the aggressive presence of the freight carrier, which passed by at ten o'clock if it was on time.

Most of the people who occupied the stretch of terraced flats that snaked alongside the rail lines slept through the noise without trouble.
For one little boy, however, the disturbance woke him nightly.

Unfortunately for his exhausted mother, it usually took a lengthy bedtime story to get him back to sleep.

"Freddie, you know it's just the train, don't you?"

Tucked warmly in his bed by the window, five-year-old Freddie stared out at the moonlit train tracks. The railroads were empty now and wouldn't see another train until morning, but he watched them with caution.
"I had a dream that the roof was falling."

The kettle whistled in the other room, and he heard his mother prepare herself a cup of tea.

"The roof was falling?"

He turned his head as she shuffled back into their shared bedroom, a moving cocoon of woollen pyjamas clutching a steaming little mug.

"Yes," he told her, as she came to sit on the edge of his bed. "It fell down on us and we got trapped."

The woman tutted and stroked her son's cheek reassuringly.

"Oh, poppet, that's not going to happen. You mustn't worry yourself. Try to get back to sleep."

Freddie peered up at her, a twinkle in his big, dark eyes.

"The story, first?"

She sipped her tea.
"It's late."

"Please?"

"No."

"Please, Mama?"

The little boy smiled cheekily, knowing that she would give in if he did so. He had recently lost his two front teeth, and his words were often accompanied by a soft whistling.

Pyrrah Ananka glanced at the clock on the wall. She sighed.

"Five minutes. You have school in the morning."

Freddie grinned and sunk further into his bed, making himself comfortable for the storytelling that was to follow.

Perry rubbed her eyes, which were hollow with wear as of late. This had become a part of their nightly routine, and it was not a habit she wanted to get into. It was freezing and she was exhausted and she had a ten hour shift at work the next day; the longer she stayed awake, the more precious minutes of sleep she lost.

But her little boy, snug under his thick feather quilt, came first. Freddie Ananka always came first. He was her little prince, the light of her life. And who could say no to that face?

"Alright. Where were we last time?"

"The fire on the boat!"

Freddie had plump, Cupid lips and warm eyes that seemed too big for his head. She kept the jet curls of his hair cut short— lest the English boys he went to school with tease him relentlessly— but she wished she could let it grow long, to his shoulders. She knew that would suit him.

He didn't look like her much at all, she didn't think, but she wouldn't change that for the world. Her little boy was perfect.

"Yes, the fire on the boat, of course," she whispered, and cleared her throat. "So. The librarian is trapped in her cabin with the bad men, and now the room has caught on fire."

"Didn't the man from the prison come to rescue her?" Freddie asked.

"Right, I forgot he was there," Perry said, thinking she was entirely too tired to be racking her brain like this. "What were we calling him?"

"The scoundrel."

She smiled at the boy.
"The scoundrel. How about we give him a name? What about... O'Brian?"

Freddie grinned. Perry put her cup of tea on the bedside cabinet and pulled her feet up onto the bed.

"O'Brian, firing his gun all over the place, grabs the librarian and tries to pull her into the hall. Oh, did I mention the man with the hooked hand?"

The boy's eyes widened.
"A hooked hand?"

"Yes, one of them has a hook for a hand! And he has tattoos on his cheeks, like the other bad men."

She swiped her cold fingertips across Freddie's cheeks and he giggled.

"Hook attacks the librarian, so she jams a candle into his eye. He falls back. The room catches fire. The librarian gets away with O'Brian, and they head to the top deck of the ship. Meanwhile, the rest of the boat is waking up to the sound of gunshots."

Pyrrah had started telling this all too familiar story to Freddie a few months ago, in an attempt to get him to go to sleep. The boy was a terrible worrier even at his young age. She usually read to him, but any story would do the trick of putting his mind at ease. It just so happened that this particular tale had become his fast favourite.

"Now, the archaeologist had heard the shouts of his sister, the librarian, and was rushing down the hall to her room," she continued. "But he was very drunk, so he kept running into the walls."

Little Freddie laughed uproariously and slapped a hand across his mouth.
"He's so silly!"

"He is. That's why he has an assistant to keep him in line. Did I mention his assistant is very clever and pretty?"

"Yes."

"Oh. Right. Well. They find the librarian's room on fire, and the puzzle box is on the floor!" Perry went on.

"The one that's the key?" Freddie checked.

"That's right. From Hamunaptra, the secret ancient city. Mr. Archaeologist tried to get it from within the flames, but then Hook appears out of nowhere and grabs it first!"

Freddie gasped.

"But Hook's robes have caught on fire, and he panics. He runs straight past them onto the deck, where a gunfight is happening!"

"A gunfight?"

"Yes," Perry tells him, and leans in closer. "Those obnoxious Americans are shooting everything. And horses are running everywhere, and the whole boat is on fire. Do you know what O'Brian does?"

Freddie widened his eyes.

"He picks up the librarian and throws her over the edge of the boat!"

The boy's jaw dropped.
"Why?!"

"Because he's a little bit crazy, but also to save her from the fire. He jumps in after her, and the archaeologist and his assistant do the same. Our heroes plunge into the freezing waters of the River Nile and swim to shore, now stranded in the middle of nowhere."

"In the desert?"

"In the desert."

"Wow."

"Yes, wow," Perry laughed, and leaned forward to kiss her son on the forehead. "But it's bedtime, now. I'll tell you some more on the way to school tomorrow."

Satisfied with that promise, Freddie smiled and wrapped his little arms around her neck for a hug.

"Night, Mama."

"Tesbahey ala khear, my son."

She tucked his quilt tighter around him and brushed his hair off of his forehead.

"Do you know how much I love you?" she asked him, quietly.

He smiled and then shook his head.

"Well. I love you more than all of the cities, and all of the seas, and all of the books in the world. I love you more than all of the words in all of the books, in fact! More than the rivers and the mountains and the sun and the moon."

Freddie smiled and his teeth whistled.

"My little Faruq, I love you more than every single star in the sky," Perry told him, and tapped the end of his nose with her fingertip. She got off the bed and picked up her cup of tea. "Now. Get some sleep. And don't worry about bad dreams."