by Ana Salote
Oy’s cakes were so popular that even with Molly and Gritty’s help he could not make enough to satisfy demand. It kept the prices high. After fourteen days of non-stop baking Mr Maundry’s outstanding fees had been paid. Odol’s man came to buy Oy for the kitchens at Mutchbarn. Oy said he was sorry; he wasn’t for sale. The man could not understand how anyone could not be for sale. He told Oy to name his price, but Oy said someone else had greater need of him and she didn’t live in Affland.
A message came from the auction house. Hoby had shown the bones to Mr Garratt. Mr Garratt was definitely interested but it was too late to get them into the next auction. The waifs said they couldn’t wait. Hoby said their pieces could be tacked onto the end but there would be no catalogue listing. The waifs agreed.
As always there was a buzz around Crust leading up to an auction, but this one was special. Odol’s ossy posse had brought in the only lamp-eyed triwingowl ever seen in Affland. Odol regularly showed uniques but triwingowls were almost mythical creatures. Buyers and agents were coming in from Topitania and Deepshale.
The space inside the auction house was limited. On auction day, only sellers and serious buyers were allowed in. Viewing day pulled the biggest crowds. In honour of the triwingowl the people of Crust had taken a spontaneous, unofficial holiday.
The queue to view stretched from the auction chambers between the poles of empty stands in Market Court, right out of Ossingate and into the Mammus quarter. Vendors stalked the queues with their sugarbuns and sugarade. Queue-itis infected everyone. Only the first two thousand would get in but to be part of such a queue was an achievement in itself. Those already in it looked back smugly as the tail grew behind them.
At the doors of Garratt’s the noise and excitement was building, but the bolts would not be drawn until Odol arrived. The waifs hid themselves in the crowds on the steps of the bank. Directly in front of them was a roped area where the top buyers waited. Inside the enclosure was Mrs Rutheday.
‘What’s she doing there?’ said Gritty.
‘She looks different,’ said Oy.
Viniga wore a colourful dress and face paint and her poker was nowhere to be seen.
Odol’s carriage was sighted. A shout went up and officials began clearing a path. The oxblood carriage drew in, the steps were lowered and two liveried lackeys helped Mr Odol down. Then the bolts rattled and the doors were opened and the special bone-dusty air of Garratt’s favoured the lungs of the patient crowd.
After that, ticket holder number one was called from the enclosure. A little man in a big suit stepped forward. He had a cherub face with a scaly patch between his brows. Flakes of skin stuck to his eyelashes. He crooked his arm. Mrs Rutheday took it. She strained her mouth into a curve. When her lips slipped to their accustomed grimness she hauled them back into an imitation smile. The man fondled the hand that lay firmly on his arm. He seemed proud to be accompanied by such a woman.
The waifs listened to the gossip around them. They heard that the man’s name was Chesuck. He was a bone-mad Topitanian, rumoured to be richer than Barracula if not quite in Odol’s league. And somehow Viniga Rutheday had hooked him. No wonder she was almost smiling. If Chesuck bankrolled her court case it was good as won. The waifs watched in despair as Chesuck and Viniga followed the ushers. Three big fellows walked behind them. Their hats were pulled low and their shoulders strained against their jackets. They swept the crowd constantly with shadowed eyes and bumped people away from Chesuck. Chesuck moved freely in his space and smiled at everyone.
Alas became a still point in the jostling crowd. ‘There’s Jep,’ he said, ‘and Raymun.’
Jeopardine joined the line of lower ranked buyers.
‘He’s in with the ticket holders, but only just,’ said Gritty. ‘He must be number a hundred and something.’
They watched as their old master edged forward with stiff reserve. Taller and thinner than those around him, he held his tailcoat close and used Raymun and his cane to buffer the crowd. He disappeared through the doors of Garratt’s.
‘He makes my stomach drop even now,’ said Gritty.
The waifs were still there when Jeopardine emerged some hours later. Frustrated desire was written on his face. Raymun ran beside him. The departing buyers moved away, taunting those still waiting with superlatives, ‘most magnificent’, ‘never seen anything like it, will make a miligildanaire of Odol.’
The monied itched and hungered, the ones with less hated the ones with more. The Porians who hid in the alleys were grateful for the increase in street pickings, half-eaten buns and dropped coins.
There was an interval of three days. The buyers had marked their viewing cards with the lots they wanted and how much they were willing to pay. They had three days to raise the money.
A message came from Hoby. It was good news. It turned out that many of the waifs’ bone fragments fit together to make a more impressive specimen. Mr Garratt himself was very taken with it. Hoby thought it might fetch several gildans. Molly blanched and sat down. With a sum like that they might win the case.
Auction day was nothing like viewing day. Huge sums of money changed hands. In Affland this inspired reverence. A crowd gathered to watch the buyers arrive but they were hushed as at a funeral. Odol’s money was wheeled in on its own truckle guarded by law officers. Garratt’s was a cash only house.
Hoby let Molly and the waifs in at the back door. The only space left was standing room behind the seller’s area. From there they watched as the rares and the very rares were sold. The real battles began with the uniques. Jeopardine was outbid several times. Skinnitar, Chesuck and Odol took most of the lots. There was fierce competition between Chesuck and Odol. It was clear that the two men hated each other. Mrs Rutheday accompanied Chesuck again. She had given up on her efforts to smile. When Chesuck won she rewarded him with a satisfied sneer which he seemed to like just as well.
The star of the show was wheeled out. Garratt gave the buyers time to stoke their craving. For reasons of his own Odol had chosen to sell under the secret reserve rules. Chesuck started the bidding on the triwingowl. Jeopardine bid though he had no money to back it. He couldn’t help it; his hand moved of its own accord. Mr Garratt looked embarrassed. Fortunately, the bidding moved on till only Skinnitar and Chesuck were left. Skinnitar dropped out. Secret reserve rules stated that Chesuck could not continue to bid without competition. Odol had set the reserve very high so he kept the triwingowl just as he intended. He had listed it merely to show off.
Chesuck took the final lot, an earcase from a Lovitian dizzybat. It was a connoiseur’s piece. Jeopardine would have traded his own ear for it. The buyers were readying themselves to leave.
Mr Garratt came forward to close the sale. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, before you go to payments. We’ve one more lot. It came in too late for listing and there’s a story behind it.’
Odol was signalling to Garratt to hurry it up. ‘Alright Mr Odol, I think in a moment you’ll agree that this piece was worth waiting for. One of our trainees, Hoby Muckman, spotted the potential in a bag of fragments and hasn’t slept for three days while he assembled it. Hoby handed Garratt a megaphone. ‘Are you ready to see it?’ the auctioneer boomed.
‘Yes,’ shouted the crowd uncertainly.
‘I can’t hear you. Are you ready?’
‘Yes.’ The crowd warmed to the unexpected showmanship.
Odol stepped down from his box and bustled into the ring. ‘That’s enough. This is not a circus; it’s a serious scientific institution. Show respect for the exhibits or I go to Spittals for my next sale.’
‘Yes, of course, Mr Odol. I was only trying to bring a little theatre, a sense of occasion...’
‘You are behaving like a fruit-monger. Uncover the thing and be done.’
The auctioneer nodded to the men who gently gathered the cloths towards them. The audience watched in silence.
Odol looked. ‘Mine,’ he said under his breath.
‘Mine,’ said Chesuck, his e
yes slitting.
Jeopardine whimpered, tore off his cravat and stuffed it into his mouth.
The waifs’ lot was beautiful. The bones were delicate as shells. ‘See the gradations, the watered silk colours,’ said Garratt, ‘the flushes of pink and purple in the crest. There are gnaw marks here but the indents merely show how the bone is layered with, if I can hazard a guess, mineral deposits, which give the different tints. Who could tire of looking at such a thing? Everyone in the auction house has fallen for it. We stand, we stare, we laugh out loud at the sheer pointless beauty of it. Why such beauty on the inside? We have all asked ourselves this. Perhaps it was a rather dull, shy creature; grey or brown; nothing about it to draw attention. And all the time its beauty was on the inside, invisible till long after death. How poignant. How mysterious. Ladies and gentlemen; many, many bones have passed through my hands. Recently we have seen a fashion for ancients. They are notable for size and rarity, but they do seem rather clumsily made, as if Mammus was merely practising. Here we are at the other extreme: a pinnacle of finesse. I seriously doubt that I will see a finer specimen in my lifetime.’ Garratt’s eyes shone. ‘You who are present can feel very privileged. We are hoping that the successful bidder today will agree to exhibit the specimen for several months and thereafter at least once a year. Such a thing deserves to be seen by all the people of Affland and beyond.’ He smiled. ‘Would that I had the means to bid. I will be sorrier than I can say to see this go.’
Odol had returned to his seat. ‘Garratt,’ he said, ‘the bidding.’
Garratt opened the bidding at a price that made Molly feel for the wall behind her and the waifs hang on to each other. Chesuck and Odol were the only bidders. Garratt spoke without drama, letting the bids speak for themselves. The amounts grew higher and higher. Neither man faltered or showed any doubt. Chesuck was far richer than anyone had imagined. The sums became stratospheric. Odol began to sweat. Chesuck remained steady and smiling. Mrs Rutheday was gripping his arm very tightly. ‘Stop,’ she hissed. Chesuck gave her one look. It was frightening. She was frightened. She didn’t try to stop him again. It became clear that Chesuck would not stop – ever. Odol threw his handkerchief down.
‘Sold to Mr Chesuck,’ said Garratt. The room fell silent with stunned respect for bones and money.
‘Gavel, sir,’ prompted the newly promoted Hoby Muckman.
Garratt rapped his gavel.
The crowd erupted. They demanded to know who the sellers were and where the specimen had come from.
‘As I said earlier, there’s a story behind this piece. The sellers are three spirited travellers who have taken all manner of risks to bring these bones here today, but I must respect their wish to remain anonymous.’
‘It doesn’t matter anymore,’ said Molly. ‘Here they are. She pushed the waifs forward.’
Mr Garratt welcomed them to the stand. ‘Miss Gritty Garnet, Masters Alas Ringworm and Oy Yew.’
Jeopardine stared at them, appalled. His gaze travelled slowly up the walls to the high arches that let light in through the roof. They were peeling and cobwebbed. His eyes remained fixed like a pair of upturned eggs. Raymun led him away like a blind man.
Within a few minutes Chesuck had gone from a man rich in money to a man rich in bones. The waifs had done the opposite. Behind a screen sacks of coin were being weighed.
‘I got chills running from my scalp to the back of my legs,’ said Gritty.
‘Does it mean the case is won for definite, Molly?’ said Oy.
‘For definite,’ said Molly. Her eyes and nose were running. She found a chair and sat fanning herself with the hem of her overskirt. Ma and Jep know we can keep going for longest and we can top any bribe. They won’t waste any more money spinning it out. It’s not how justice should work but justice has won in the end.’
Just as Molly said, it was in everyone’s interest to draw the case to a close. The bowling balls, eyebrows and voice box sat down together in private session. They were joined by Judge Cracknuckle.
In the middle of the highly polished table were nine volumes of case notes for Jeopardine v Sandy v Rutheday. The case had run for three yonks. Despite the courtroom drama, behind the scenes they still wrangled over point 1 subsection a (i). There were 78 points to be decided. It was a lifetime’s work for them and the baby lawyers now being reared on their home hearths.
‘Mr Baracula,’ said the judge, ‘what’s the best way to draw this to a close? It needs to look neat on record you know.’
‘Your honour,’ said Baracula. ‘Since subsection b is a long way off, I suggest Mr Langverbers and myself withdraw our evidence as unreliable.’
‘Which it is,’ said Maundry.
‘And twisted and biased,’ said Langverbers.
‘And bearing no resemblance to the truth whatsoever,’ said Baracula.
‘And sadly corrupt.’ Langverbers shook his head.
‘In which case we can tear up points 1 to 78 immediately,’ said Baracula.
‘Leaving the facts to speak for themselves,’ said Maundry.
Baracula shivered. ‘Not something we recommend ordinarily.’
‘A dangerous precedent,’ said Langverbers.
‘But my clerks are skilled in papering over this sort of thing,’ said Baracula.
‘Leave it to the clerks then,’ said the judge. ‘Mr Maundry, call your clients in.’
Mr Maundry opened the door and beckoned to the Sandys. A sway-hipped rosy woman and a bandy-legged man came in followed by three children. Oy approached the table and hefted a money bag onto it. Gritty, Alas and Molly all lay their money down.
‘It’s all there,’ said Dr Sandy, ‘but you can check it again if you wish.’
The legals loosened the drawstrings. They sniffed the notes and bit the gold. Satisfied, they closed the bags though they continued to look at them.
Baracula coughed. ‘Gentlemen, if I could sum up. Our lengthy, not to say exhaustive, not to say exhausting investigations and deliberations and...’
‘Hurry up,’ said the judge, looking at his fob.
‘Your honour, it’s an open and shut case.’
‘Forget the open and get to the shut.’
‘Very well, the waif rights are unanimously, indisputably and perpetually assigned to Molly cook.’
‘Sandy,’ Mr Maundry corrected.
‘To Mrs Molly Sandy,’ said Baracula.
‘Case closed,’ said the judge. He whisked a money bag under his robe, clipped it onto his belt alongside several smaller bags, and left the room without looking at anyone.
Mr Baracula showed Molly where to sign. The papers were dated and stamped. The waifs danced around the Sandys. ‘We did it, we did it, we did it,’ they sang. Molly began to cry. ‘I never thought to see the end of it. I thought I would see my life out waiting for an end to it.’ Dr Sandy made her sit down. Molly dried her face and blew her nose. ‘That’s enough of that. We must get down to the factory. Those poor children shan’t work a minute more than they need.’
‘I can’t wait to see them,’ said Gritty.
‘I should warn you,’ said Dr Sandy, ‘some of your friends may be missing. We’ve heard of waifs being sold into service elsewhere. I didn’t want to worry you before but Affland Council has been a worse master than Jeopardine if that’s possible. There’s no reliable inspector or doctor, and there’s more grit than ever in the waif bread.’
‘Oh Lor’,’ said Gritty, ‘remember how we put up with chipped teeth and scoured throats ’cos we were too hungry to spit the stones.’
Alas scratched his arm and neck. ‘Let’s go,’ he said.
26 Return to Duldred
They left the offices and began the walk to the factory. Stopping at the bakers and dairy they ordered bread and milk to be sent ahead.
‘Best not to shock their systems with too much too soon,’ said Dr Sandy.
‘And later we’ll knock up a feast for them. What do you say, Oy?’ said Molly. ‘It’s a shame I ain’t n
o better at cooking than I used to be.’
‘What’s happened to Mrs Midden?’ said Gritty.
‘She’s stuck it out at Duldred, but she’s had to cut back. Tradesmen have started withdrawing their accounts for lack of payment. She makes endless pies. I’ve sneaked in to see her and no matter what time I turn up she’s there rolling, rolling. There’s pies lined up all over the kitchen. Pauper’s stargazy: she tops the pie with fish heads but there’s no fish underneath, only potatoes. When she can’t get fish heads she fetches little sprats from the lake and swats them down on top of the pastry. There’s getting to be an awful smell in there. It’s drawing the flies.’
‘Jeopardine has lofty tastes and a nervous stomach. I wonder how he’s faring on cat food and stodge,’ said Dr Sandy.
‘She won’t admit how bad things are,’ said Molly. ‘She calls it a good thing, says the master is too thin and stodge never killed anyone.’
As they neared the factory the waifs walked faster and faster, almost breaking into a run. Molly puffed behind. Dr Sandy held her arm and urged her not to rush; a minute more or less would make no difference. The factory gate was in sight. It was horribly familiar: the wrought iron bars with the words J. Jeopardine Manufactory scrolled above. The high brick walls were topped with spikes. There was a smell of oiled metal and trash on the turn, the reek of labour. The watchman let them in. The overseer came out to meet them. He shook hands with the Sandys and said he didn’t realise they had family and what fine children they were. ‘They are,’ said Molly, ‘and the rest of our family are in there, and they shall be just as fine. Shut down please.’
‘Shut down?’ The overseer looked baffled.
‘Shut off the engines please.’
‘Ma’am, it’s nowhere near knockoff. You’ll be losing money.’
‘Do it, man,’ said Dr Sandy.
The overseer went away. The rhythmical racket ceased. Dr Sandy and Molly went into the factory. The waifs waited outside directing the baker’s cart and the dairy cart to set up in the yard. A great cheer went up all over the factory. There was a clamour of voices and a column of waifs came spilling out into the yard. They filled their arms and pockets and mouths with bread and gulped at the milk and blinked at the daylight. Gritty and Alas and Oy kept on staring at the factory doors. Last out were Dr Sandy and Molly with Blinda, Jakes, Elyut, Lizbuth, Billam, Henret and Lucinda. They were thin, grey and ragged.