" It was none of your business. You could have just stayed away from there."
"Who then would have brought our sons back? Did you not consider that or was I also the one that led them out in the cover of night?"
"You are their father, Clifford, and it's your duty to keep them safe,"she thundered, and he mimicked her, getting her furious and she stumped away.
"Come on, Rosie, you aren't faultless here and you should know that once in awhile..."
"Papa..."
Startled, he met the beckoning eyes of the little boy, gentle and meek.
"What's the matter,son?"
For a moment, the boy appeared lost, looking from one angle to another, like in track of something, but following his gaze, Clifford could only make out the kitchen, and the shelved pots, heated moments before Rosie grew so mad at him she dashed up to her room.
"Is my little man hungry?"
He shook his head and pointed towards the kitchen window.
The image from that night, of him pointing at something behind him, and the feeling of someone behind him, coupled with what Moses had said, troubled him for a second and turning back to the boy, he held him firmly by the shoulders," whose son are you,boy?"
"Clifford, the famed!"he hailed, excitement, with a sudden surge of pride and confidence oozing from his skin, boldly plastered on his face like charcoal on a white board.
"And what does he do,son?"
"He routes the enemy and beheads their leader!"
With a broad smile etched on his face, he took a deep breath and sighed," be your father's son, and route them away any time they come,"he admonished, and the next time he followed the boys gaze to the window, he smiled and said," they are gone, Papa."
Clifford was by no means relieved at that announcement. Something troubled him, and it arose not just from what Moses had said that night, but what the little one had said.
"Hey, Peter... Natasha, we need to talk," he said as he walked in, the next moment, his eyes met their little boy's, and he didn't seem pleased to meet him.
Slow of speech and often reserved to himself, Billy was known to keep away from people but was unusually fond of Clifford than his own parents. As little as he was, Clifford treated him as an equal whenever they were alone and not for once had he seen him so disgusted at his mere presence in their relatively smaller home that couldn't match his even in a decade to come.
"What is the matter, Billy?"Natasha asked, apparently, having noticed the development.
"I want him out of this house!"he thundered, and both parents were short of words.
"May I ask why?"she replied after sometime.
"Get rid of him if you know what's good for you."
"Okay, that's it young man, you can't just go around being rude for no good reason and expect us to dance to that tune. You have to do better than that, now, apologize and go to your room and ponder over your actions," Peter commanded.
"You will have to be better than this," he countered with a smirk.
And just before Natasha could reprimand him, while Peter was still puzzled, he broke down in tears, wailing.
"Papa, don't you see they're not our friends. They mock us. And he asked his son's to route us out of his home anytime we came."
Something clicked immediately inside Clifford who had been wondering what was going on with the boy, but his parents were too bitter to question that his answer and sudden oddities.
" I'm sorry, Mr. Rosewood, but you have to leave now," Peter said, suddenly going formal with his best friend and neighbour.
Clifford exited the house without a word, and similarly, Natasha stood, dumbstruck as Peter shut the door and took the boy inside. Glued on him, his grin didn't escape her attention.
Riding back to his house, leisurely, Clifford was in deep thought and almost all who passed by took notice since he didn't respond to the salutes in his honour.
Somehow, he choose to ride down to the harbour before coming up to the Rosewood mansion, an old family home, like most of the houses around, passed down several generations and repaired upon damages but never changed. Solid with bricks, it towered to the height of only few homes such as the Count's, a sturdy long bearded man, unusual for men of the era, and with absurd likeness for cowboy hats which only made him smaller and more rounded around the belly like an overfed two year old, but to his credit, he had a deep terrifying voice, more fitted for taller and broader men, nonetheless, he was feared, as was his father, and his father's fathers.
"What's happening, gentlemen?" Clifford quizzed, when he met repairers working on the ship.
"Count and the mayor wants it checked for holes and polished," the older man replied, attentive to the sound made each time he knocked on a part, without looking up at him.
"They can't possibly want it to sail again."
"You may tell them directly, right now, I have a pay to earn and you need to leave."
Stupified by the man's nonchalant response, he took some step away but turned suddenly, curious.
"By chance, have you seen Moses around?"
"Yes...the last he was recommended for the cellars."
" By who?"Clifford replied, disconcerted.
"I did," the man said standing up to him.
"Noah North?"
"Hello, Mr. Rosewood...is there something else you would want to know?"
"How could you have made such preposterous recommendation? You are more fond of Moses than the rest of us."
"You call him father."
"Yes, main reason I wanted him to rest in the cellar,"he shot back.
" Why do I feel the this isn't you," Clifford muttered, but surprisingly, Noah heard him, and turning away, Noah replied," it isn't me, it's them."