Christmas 2002

Mello awoke, instantly alert. There had been a noise. He glanced across the room, but the redhead\'s breathing was steady and heavy. It was impossible to see Matt\'s face under the roll of quilt that encased his friend\'s entire form, but Mello was very certain that Matt was asleep. He listened and heard it again. The squeak of floorboards in the corridor outside their room. Silently, Mello slipped out of his bed and padded across the floor to the door. Many night-time escapades led then to ensuring that the hinges were kept well-oiled. He carefully pushed down on the doorhandle, braced against the inevitable tiny click as the latch retracted. He didn\'t come. Mello had timed the pressure perfectly. Inch by inch, he drew the door back, until he could see outside.



There was nothing to see, but Mello\'s whole one side tingled with a presense. For a heart-stopping moment, he remembered the stories that the older children once scared him with, about the ghost of a previous resident who\'d committed suicide. L had confirmed the reality of the resident, a boy named A, but had disdained reports of a ghost. Standing peering out into the early hours gloom, Mello wasn\'t so convinced. He had to quickly evaluate the likelihood of L being right over the sense of Something There right now. He erred on the side of L and stepped out for a snapshot look before drawing back. He had seen someone, but it was no ghost. Mello smirked and sneaked out into the shadows.



Century was halfway down the stairs, when Mello spoke up. "What are you doing?"



"Ach y fi!" The child gasped, but started to run before the first syllable of it was out of his mouth.



Mello appeared behind the post at the top of the stairs and smiled, staring down at him. "You\'re not allowed to speak Welsh here. You are Welsh, aren\'t you, Century?" He stepped down, unhurried, yet giving the appearance of speed. "Eight years old and too stupid to cover your tracks. You\'re going to be hunted down and killed." Mello blinked. There was stillness in the reception. Century had just faded into the murk. Mello\'s quick gaze took in everything in the direction that the child had gone, then glanced at Roger\'s office. Though Roger would be in his bedroom, the door still stared back in accusation. Mello crossed himself and landed soundlessly at the foot of the stairs. "I looked up the things you say on the internet. That\'s how I know you\'re Welsh. I know lots of things about you that I shouldn\'t know." There was a whisper of sound near the corner where the classrooms lay. It was barely anything, just a displacement of air or a space too silent to be natural. Mello stared into it. He couldn\'t see Century, but he knew he was there. "What are you doing?"



There was a soft release of breath and the boy stepped into view. "I\'ve come to see if Sion Corn has come yet. Don\'t hurt me."



Mello blinked. "Heh!" He turned to survey the closed door of Roger\'s office. The old man had failed here. He should have had this conversation before Christmas morning. Mello deduced that he hadn\'t been able to get in touch with Mr Wammy and so had taken the coward\'s route of just waiting for Century to learn for himself certain realities. It was a risky strategy. If Century cried or tantrummed, then he would be bound to mention the name again and anyone missing it the first time would work out that he was Welsh. Knowing a nationality was the first step to knowing an identity. L had taught them that. Mello closed the gap between himself and the child. He peered down at him. "Roger didn\'t speak with you about Sion Corn?"



"Yes." Century replied in his sing-song accent. Mello had looked up soundbites of the Welsh dialect, as soon as he\'d traced Sion Corn to Wales, and they had matched what he\'d been hearing from this little one. "But he said untrue things."



Mello was morbidly curious. "What untrue things did he say?"



Huge eyes blinked at him from underneath an unruly fringe. Mello knew the eyes to be a deep blue, almost black, but they, like the rest of the child, looked silvery-grey in the half-light. He muttered something, which Mello stared at him for, until Century repeated it. "He said Sion Corn isn\'t real. That he\'s not coming."



Mello looked to see if Century was going to cry. He didn\'t. He just took a step backwards. Mello respected that. The child\'s instinct was to run and it was very finely tuned. Mello wasn\'t stupid. Cuteness and being very young didn\'t preclude people from beating him in the rankings; but Century had been here for a couple of months and showed no signs of being another Near. In fact, he was somewhere close to the bottom. Memories of Mello\'s own first Christmas here, along with the no show of either Sveti Nikola or Djed Božiænjak, twinged deep in his consciousness. He understood the sense in the omission of such figures here. Their presense would have given too much away concerning origins. It was precisely how he had placed Century after all. Mello had never mentioned Djed Božiænjak and the most prevalent rumours about himself was that he was German. It worked. He stared at the tiny Welsh boy and decided that he could afford a little kindness. "I will come with you to see for yourself if Sion Corn has come, then I\'ll walk with you back to your room."



Century stiffened slightly, but at least he didn\'t run away. His lilting voice took on a sadder, if sharper, hue. "You don\'t think he\'s coming either."



Mello placed his arm around him. "Where would he come if he was coming?"



"By the Christmas tree."



"Then we\'ll check the one in the common room and the one in the dining room." Mello led the way. He felt like a big brother with a younger accolate. "Why are you so certain that he\'s coming?"



"There was taffy in my room last night."



Mello frowned. "Toffee?"



Century shook his head. "Taffy." They entered the common room, where the moon reached through the window. A silvery sheen covered everything. The television, the settees, the tables, the chairs, the Christmas tree and the pile of seven or eight small parcels beneath it. Century broke away from Mello and raced towards them. He landed on his knees and lifted the first to see. A loud gasp escaped his lips and tears immediately filled his eyes.



"They\'re not yours?" Mello whispered, more affected than he thought he should be.



Century nodded and held one up. "It says, \'Annwyl Century, Nadolig llawen, cariad Sion Corn\'." He quickly looked. "They all do! He found me!"