Too clever by half. That's what Mum had said. When Cian asked what that meant, she took two glasses, filled one almost to the top, filled the other only halfway, then poured the halfway into the almost filled so it spilled over. "That," she said, "means you have too much cleverness, my little man. Now, go put it to good use."

He was going to be six in a few days. No party, he had determined. No party because everyone he wanted to be there wouldn't come anyway. They never came anymore. Maybe that was why Mum cried at night. Aidan didn't hear her. He never woke up in the dark listening for whatever it was that woke him. Beata, he didn't know if she heard it, but she usually woke crying herself if disturbed. She was so grumpy without her sleep. But he heard it. Whenever they were in Rhydin, he heard Mum weeping soft as the Yearling Brook.

Well, he, Cian Kieransson, was not going to let it go any further. He was Baron, so he was told, and he was going to see to the care of his people. His mum. He had meant to do this when they arrived, but nothing had turned out how he planned. Everyone was keeping an eye on him at one point or another. It wasn't until last night, when after hours of fears shaking him he was told his mother was going to be well, but long in recovery, that he knew he could escape in the morning.

Beata and Aidan had colds. Beata's was particularly bad. Gwen said that with a sigh each time. "Ach, she's a particularly bad cold, my lord." She was hovering over those two often, sending him out to play and on to his lessons. That's when he did it. He made sure no one was watching him. They weren't. They had their things to do. They weren't used to the people who usually watched over him being distracted. Mum was not well. The estate of Yearling Brook was on alert for her and expected him to be nearby. A wad of bad feeling stuck in his throat and made it hard to swallow, but he had to go. He had to know why she cried. And to his thinking, there was one man who could tell him.

Now, he didn't know exactly where his Uncle Lucky lived. He had never been there. He knew it was in town, and he knew about where it was just from the few trips and Mum pointing down a street and saying "Your Uncle Lucky lives down that way. If you're ever in trouble and things are at their worst, go there." This may not be their worst, but that was where Cian was going to go.

It was a long walk. He should have brought his horse. But going through the orchard and the woods around the back of the estate to where the wall ended and he could reach the road was difficult enough without trying to take his horse, too. Morning beat on until afternoon. The city was so busy and loud. He never noticed it when they road through in the carriage.

He only spoke to ladies with carts of things to sell. Those were always the nicest ones in Seansloe. It did not seem to be the way things were exactly in Rhydin, with a few snapping at him that they didn't have time and didn't know where what's his name lived. It took him longer than he thought and it was afternoon. His feet were tired, his stomach was gnawing at him, and his fears were making him want to throw up. But, there it was. Lucien Mallorek's home. That's what he had been told and taken there by a lady with a half empty cart of bread goods.

He was tired now, but going forward was better than going back. With his hand curled up, putting all his anger in it, he pounded on the door. You'll let me in, he meant his knock to say. You'll tell me what I want to know, was the second pounding.

A smile to the lady as the door opens to reveal Uncle Lucky. "That's hi--" and he is inside. Being ushered back to the kitchen, he looks around what he can see. A big smile of pride at making it just where he intended to go. He couldn't wait to tell Aidan about this!

"What's going on? Is everything okay?"

Having gotten to his destination, hunger had gone from a ache in the belly to full out pain. Cian reached for a roll dropped on the table, and nodded his head. "Uh-huh." But, no, things weren't. That's why he was here. He pulled off a bite of bread and played with it instead of eating. "Only, Bea and Aidan are really sick, and Mum was sick last night, but she slept. She cries at night. I hear her. She didn't last night. She was sleeping when I left. Did you know how far it is here?"

At that he set down the roll on the table and the bite of bread and pulled back a chair with both hands, so he could sit on it. His legs seemed to want to keep walking, because they swung back and forth all slow as syrup like. "Mum cries when we're here. I don't want to ask her, because maybe she'll cry again." Bite of roll thoroughly mashed, he passes it up for another bit of roll pulled off to eat.

He had not asked the question, not really, but he kept his eyes on his Uncle who knew everything. He knew how to fly like Peter Pan even. He could fly kites and had secret places to go play that had treasure.

There came more food. This is going well for his stomach, but not for his questions. Uncle Lucky was not telling him anyway, just asking questions back to him. His foot kicked back at his chair leg. ?No one knows. I came by myself. I don?t have to tell them.? He knew he should have, but, ?They would have said no. And you know things. You know why my Mum is crying.? He had some ideas himself. Maybe if he asked directly, Uncle Lucky would answer. ?Does she miss papa still? I don?t?remember him really so maybe that?s why I don?t cry. Does her arm hurt? When I have to sleep on a sore arm, I sometimes want to cry.? Well, he did cry, and his mum comforted him. ?Is she scared of here? Does she have nightmares? Aidan did. He always thought he was burning. She won?t tell me.? He had not asked, really.

Chewing the apple slice, his head bowed a little over the meal, he looked up through lashes to his Uncle. Well, he wasn?t really his uncle. That did not matter right now. ?I am Baron, you know.? He added. It wasn?t exactly true. ?I?m supposed to take care of my people. I was told that?s what I will do. I was told to look to people who know more than me for help. Will you help me??

It was mostly spouting off the elements of lessons over time. It was what he was told. It was right. His father would be proud of him. His father he barely remembered except in strange flashes of leaf fall and firelight.

Meanwhile, back at Yearling Brook, they had gone past discovery of the young Baron?s absence and were in full out search. A panicked Gwen was near to hysterics being calmed and unknowingly drugged by the cook. The guards were searching the grounds as quietly as they could, and two trios of riders had taken to the road, one going to the city and the other heading north.

No one wanted to tell the Dowager Baroness who lay in bed, but she heard the unusual amount of activity. She knew something was wrong. It was not her, at least no more than her left side being obstinate against commands to move. When the servant responded to her half call, half pounding her right hand against the wall behind her bed, the woman was so utterly pale that Sylvia pushed herself upright and demanded to know what was going on. Cian was missing.

A letter? A letter! Didn't his Uncle Lucky listen to him at all? He folded his arms. He didn't want to be found. "Mum's sleeping," he said, trying to make his uncle understand that his mother didn't know. She didn't need to know. If he told her then someone would come get him, and he'd go without getting his answers. That's the way it always worked. It was always do what they say, no matter what he wanted.

Folding his arms across his chest, he sat back and frowned. Mum would have called it sulking, and she would have sighed and shaken her head. Uncle Lucky did say he would help though. He said any way he could. What if the letter was a trick to get him to leave though like when Mum said the artichokes would feel lonely left on the plate and not eaten to give him strong muscles.

Still, Lord Keefe said tit for tat always worked best. If Uncle Lucky was going to be helpful, he would be helpful. When Uncle Lucky was not, he would not be. Cian scratched at his neck, then nodded. "Okay. A letter, but not a long one." That would take too much time and effort. "Mum, I am with Uncle Lucky. Hope you feel better soon. Love, Cian."

He looked up at his uncle and nodded. "Okay, now you have to help me. I want it all better again. I want laughing and playing. I have a birthday, and I want my Mum happy for it."

There sure was a lot of noise from down the hall. Cian went to the door of the kitchen, but his Uncle Lucky had just stepped out the front door. The noise had stopped, so Cian went back to eat the roll and wait. He sure hoped his uncle had some answers. He didn't know what to do if he didn't. Legs swinging, he looked over the kitchen again, it was bigger than theirs at Yearling Brook. Well, maybe, but he knew it wasn't as big as the kitchen in Seansloe. That was smile worthy. His Uncle Lucky needed to come to their kitchens some time. It had good smells there all the time.

Uncle Lucky's return is greeted with that smile, that then slips away. "Well? What do I need to do to make it better?"

The carriage with the note was trundling up the street, while the guards were cantering down. They were going to take time as they scanned the busy crowds for a young child. At least, they had an idea of where to start. The route would take them past the famous barrister's home on the way to the docks where the ships moored. Those were the only two places they could think Cian would go. It would take them all day with such a bustle of people, but they were determined.