Page 44 of Better in Black
“What’s wrong with him, anyway?” Butterwick said. He sounded calmer, perhaps because it had occurred to him something could be truly wrong with the man on the floor, or perhaps because of the wad of bills Thomas had just pressed into his palm.
“He’s not allowed out on his own,” Thomas said. “He slipped through our fingers and escaped, I’m afraid, but we’re here to take him back.” This was true enough, at least.
“Ah,” said Butterwick. “Escaped from Bedlam, has he?”
“Something like that,” Thomas muttered.
Zachary was rising to his feet. “Why are you two following me?” he demanded of Alastair, brushing bits of sweet from his tie.
“Zachary,” Alastair said, “we need to take you home now. Come along.”
“I’ll thank you not to call me by my first name,” Zachary sniffed, drawing himself up to a pose of dignified offense. “You’ve no reason to be so inappropriately familiar.” He squinted at Alastair. “What are those funny marks on your arm?”
Of course he could see through the glamour, Thomas thought. He was still a Shadowhunter; most were born with the Sight, though the runes they received later focused it.
Alastair growled his frustration. “I am your older brother, Alastair. You are a tiny child, not a London businessman. You must listen to me!”
Zachary looked down at himself and huffed in disbelief. “Anyidiot could see that’s nonsense. I’m a fully grown man. And your elder, I daresay. You’ve got no right to follow me as you have been.”
“Really,” said Alastair, folding his arms in a manner that, Thomas could not help but notice with amusement, closely resembled Zachary’s own posture. “Where do you live, then?”
Zachary snorted. “In a big stone house, obviously. What a stupid question.”
“What’s your home address?” Alastair demanded.
“I don’t have to answer to you!” Zachary stormed to the door, where he retrieved his hat and umbrella. “Good day!” he said, buttoning up his jacket—a difficult task since all of its pockets bulged with his ill-gotten candy. “I say again, good day, sirs!”
Alastair, of course, followed him immediately, leaving Thomas to try to edge past the shopkeeper to the door.
“If I ever see him in here again,” Butterwick said calmly, “I will get the constable and see him arrested and dragged back to Bedlam in chains.”
“You won’t see him again,” Thomas said, hoping he was telling the truth.
Outside, Zachary was waving his umbrella in front of him, keeping Alastair at bay. “Leave me alone!”
“Thomas,” Alastair said. “Get around behind him and grab him.”
This Thomas gamely attempted—there was only the one umbrella, after all—but before he could put his hands on Zachary, the overgrown child had begun to shout again.
“I’m being attacked!” he cried. “Help! Thieves! Thieves and ruffians! Call the police!”
The other mundanes on the street had taken an interest, and a large man with a bowler and about eight inches of height on Thomas came stalking over. “Oi,” he demanded. “What’s all this? These men bothering you?”
“They’re trying to rob me! I need to get back to the office!”
“They’ve ruined your shirt,” the man observed. “Alfred, come help, would you?”
A crowd was beginning to gather around them. Another very large man—Alfred, Thomas guessed—was pushing his way through to join the fray. “Get away from him,” the first man demanded.
Alastair held up his hands in surrender. “We’re not trying to rob him,” he said. “We only need to talk to him—”
“He doesn’t want to talk to you,” ground out Alfred, getting between them and Zachary. “Make yourselves scarce, or there’ll be trouble.”
Thomas considered what would happen if he and Alastair got into hand-to-hand combat here on the street. They would win any fight, but nothing good would come of it. Alastair clearly agreed, as he took a step back and nodded.
“We don’t want any trouble,” he said, which was true, Thomas thought, even if it was rather too late for that.
“Then shove off,” said the first large man. “Are you all right?” he said to Zachary.
