Page 65 of Hawk & Sparrow

Stan dropped his gaze and began to busy himself by picking apart bits of the grilled cheese sandwich’s crust. “Didn’t want to cause any problems for Frankie,” he muttered. “Before he died, he made a choice to separate his old life from his new one. I thought I should continue to respect his wishes, even though he’s gone.”

“You called him Frankie,” said Vesper. “That was his real name?”

“Franklin, technically,” said Stanley. “Frankie for short. Our mother named him after her father, our grandfather.”

Vesper took a moment to digest that information. Franklin. Francis. The names were similar enough, but distinct. It would have been easy for Franklin Dawson to shed that name and slip into Francis Gladwell without much fuss at all.

“I know a lot about Francis Gladwell, the name your brother was using when he died,” said Vesper. “But if you don’t mind, I’d really like to know more about Frankie, whatever you’re willing to share.”

Stan stopped picking apart the sandwich and met her gaze. “You gonna tell the cops?”

Vesper swallowed. “Not if I don’t have to.”

Stanley looked at her for a long while, then took a large bite of his sandwich. He chewed for a while, then said: “Ever been to Shalescreek?”

“Sure.” Vesper nodded. “Only a few times, though.”

“That’s where Frankie and I grew up,” said Stanley. “I’m sure you know its reputation.”

Vesper nodded again. Shalescreek was in the southern part of the city, one of the poorest in all Basalton, and rougher even than the neighborhood she’d grown up in. It was known for being dirty, crime-ridden. She couldn’t imagine being a child there.

“My mother was a seamstress,” Stan went on. “It was her, Frankie, and me. My dad died when we were little. Ma did the best she could for us with the meager wages she had; she tried to keep us out of the factories and make sure we went to school.” He wrapped his hands around the soup bowl. “I made it to Year Five before she ran out of money. Frankie was in Year Three. After that, we had to drop out and work.”

“I’m sorry,” said Vesper.

Stan shrugged. “I was okay, but Frankie … He took it pretty hard. He wanted to keep going to school, but I explained to him that we couldn’t afford to pay rent if he didn’t contribute. That didn’t stop him from dreaming though. Sometimes, after work, he’d beg me to walk with him all the way up to the nice neighborhoods and just look at the houses.” Stan chuckled. “He used to tell me that, someday, he was going to save up enough money to buy one for Ma.

“Things were pretty good, until she died.” Stanley blinked several times, then cleared his throat. “Honestly, I think that’s the straw that broke the camel’s back. It wasn’t long after our mother died that Frankie started changing.”

“Changing?” Vesper prompted. “How do you mean?”

Stanley stared into his bowl of soup. “It started with little things. At first, he was late to work a few times, got a couple of warnings. Then he stopped showing up altogether, missed entire shifts. I told him that he needed to get his shit together or he’d lose his job, but he just kept telling me that he had it all figured out, and that it was all going to be okay. Of course, I didn’t believe him, but then…”

“Then?”

Stanley looked up. “He started coming home with money,” he whispered. “I’m not talking about pocket change either. I mean real money, sometimes as much as fifty or a hundred gild a week.”

“And he never told you where he got it?” Vesper asked.

Stanley shook his head. “Never told me, and I never asked. I didn’t want to know, in case it was something illegal.” He took a deep breath. “I regret that now.”

“You said Frankie changed,” said Vesper. “How else?”

Stanley pursed his lips. “He got all … fancy,” he said. “Started combing his hair and wearing these nice clothes. I guess he bought them with all that money he was getting. One day, I came back to our apartment after work and our only picture of Ma was gone.” His face clouded. “That’s when I knew he’d left for good.”

“When was that?”

“About a year ago.”

“Stanley, er—Stan.” Vesper hoped she sounded respectful. “I really appreciate your willingness to speak with me. If you don’t mind, I just have one more question: Before your brother died, did you ever notice him spending time with anyone from Basalton’s high society, other people in fancy clothes?”

Stan scratched at his chin. “I never saw him with anybody dressed in fancy clothes,” he said. “But one of the last times I saw Frankie, when I got off from work early, he was on our stoop talking with … some people.”

“People?” Vesper repeated.

For the first time, Stan looked nervous. “I’m not sure I should say.”

“Please.” Vesper leaned forward. “You can trust me.”