by Ila Mercer
‘Not a word of it, hear,’ Tilly threatened Lita. Softening slightly, she added, ‘You can have a bit too if you want,’ all the while, clutching the currants in her meaty palm.
‘No thanks,’ Lita said. ‘I’m not all that hungry.’
Thereafter Vicca and Tilly did all the talking. All morning, and it was not the innocent and idle talk of young girls. The maids, Lita soon learned, had tongues as sharp as paring knives. Within no time, it seemed the very air seemed to slicken and bloody as Vicca and Lilly took turns dissecting the actions and reputations of all.
Lita learned that the Jims had a taste for snuff, the tallowmaker had a collection of wax dolls and the weaver was a stuck-up prig. But Yaron – according to the maids – was dreamy, except for the fact he’d gone a bit odd after his return from Fallengrove.
They told a litany of tales about Sal too - how she had once been a smuggler on the high seas, bedded half a kingdom in the days when she was a painted sister -the worst kept secret in the Keep - and was then rescued by the Jims after being beaten to within an inch of her life.
Over the course of the morning, as they peeled turnips, baked bread, and pickled beans, they only paused in their character assassinations when somebody entered the kitchen. More than once it happened to be the person they were talking about. Ten folk, in all, wandered through the kitchens that morning to deliver produce or stop for a quick bite. In every instance, the maids wheedled some fresh detail from each visitor, and reciprocated in kind.
The tales, Lita learnt, were all for her benefit. So that she might know ‘who was who’ and ‘what was what,’ which made no sense to Lita, but she was starting to understand why MaKiki had always been so wary of others. It seemed nothing escaped the notice of the maids and Lita realised she would have to be particularly careful about what she revealed.
When the maids began pressing her for details, Lita tried to make her life sound as dull as possible. It worked too. Tilly yawned openly as Lita described the routine of a tinker’s life.
‘Is that all you did?’ Vicca said. ‘What did you do for fun?’
‘Read,’ Lita replied.
‘Oh la-di-da,’ Vicca said, tipping her nose. ‘What about fellows? You must have met a few of them along the way.’
Lita shook her head.
‘Gorn,’ Tilly said, popping yet another lump of sugar into her mouth. ‘Who’d want to tumble such a scrawnbag anyway? Besides, I bet you wouldn’t have the first clue what to do.’
Lita blushed.
‘Just as I thought,’ Tilly said, with a knowing wink. ‘Not everything can be book learned.’
And with that they shared everything they knew on the subject of tumbling a lad.
By the time she was given leave for a break, Lita’s ears burned, and a queer feeling had risen inside her like something had unravelled or budded in her mind. An unpleasant budding too, so that she could not undo whatever it was, could not go back to the point of not knowing. It would change the way she saw certain things forever. Why had MaKiki never spoken of these things? It made her feel angry as she dwelled on this thought. She felt like a fool. Vicca and Tilly were, after all, only a little older and yet they knew about so many shocking things, some of which they said they’d found out first hand. After one morning with the maids she now knew how to give and receive so’s not to end up full of child, and who to see if she did get into trouble. The girls explained, in detail, how one’s plan to stop could be sorely put to test in the fever of the moment. When they had said that, it made Lita burn with feelings of shame and embarrassment for it was as though they described animals on heat.
Lita had seen what happened in spring time: how mares, does, bitches and nannies all became interested in the male of their species, allowing him to nuzzle, mount and thrust at the hindquarters. It had never occurred to her that folk might do the same. All MaKiki had ever said on the subject was that Lita should never allow herself to be alone with a boy. Lita had been too fearful to ask more questions because MaKiki – in her usual manner – had said it as though it was a final word. On the one occasion when Lita drew the courage to ask, MaKiki had grown very quiet and oddly still. ‘Your body is sacred Lita. You mustn’t let a boy rub his hands up your leg or sneak it down the top of your dress. From there it’s a short step to babies. And we don’t need one of those. There, I’ve said more than I wanted to.’
Now Lita realised MaKiki had only told her the half of it.
In one morning, she had learnt more about the world than she could have learned in a year with MaKiki. What else had she missed? Fancy having to wait all this time to learn something that everyone else took for granted. It made her realise that MaKiki had never intended to prepare her for a life with others.
Outside the air was fresh and she could breathe deeply once more. She sat on a low wall and watched the folk of the Keep carry out their tasks. Maids dashed across the courtyard, arms filled with flapping laundry; the stableboy beat a saddle blanket until the horsehair and dust rose like a wave and then beached against the wall; the old guard at the gate, whose dozing had been interrupted by a sooky cat, stooped to tickle its ears. As she watched them, she felt a sudden yearning. For what she did not know, except that it had something to do with the ease of their actions, the way they knew what to do without thinking about it. Had she been able to articulate this more clearly, she might have said she envied their sense of belonging. She felt it keenly, even if she could not shape it with thoughts.
‘Well how’d it go?’ Sal asked, settling her rump on the wall. ‘I expect you’ve learnt all the gossip of the Keep by now. Half of which is tales and the other half not nearly as saucy as the truth.’
Lita chose to say nothing.
‘You can help me this afternoon,’ Sal said. ‘Unless you want to go back to them maids in the kitchen.’
‘No. I’ve had more than enough of the kitchen for one day.’
‘Good.’ With a wry grin Sal added, ‘Only trouble now is they’ll be hard at it this afternoon giving you a colourful past too.’
After their lunch of bread, onions and cheese, Sal turned her attention to a pile of parchment. She pulled one sheet closer to her eyes, shifted into the chair beside the window and squinted until her eyes were no more than slits. Every now and then Lita caught Sal’s lips moving slowly, trying to decipher the script. Clearly, it was getting the better of her. Her fingers had tightened, and her elbows were drawn stiff to her sides. ‘Oh, it’s no use,’ she said finally, tossing the parchment, ut the parchment mocked her even in this, fluttering and then drifting like a dainty snowflake only to land right side up on the table.
‘Is it a letter?’ Lita asked.
‘From my sister,’ Sal huffed. ‘I’m sure she uses clever words to spite me. Thinks she’s better than me, just cause she’s had more book learning.’
Lita set aside her darning. It was such tedious work, drawing a needle back and forth across the same patch of fabric and her fingers were getting stiff. No wonder Sal’s were so swollen and knobbly. ‘Would you like me to read?’ She asked.
‘What? You can read?’
Lita nodded. She had never thought there was anything unusual about this.
‘Where’d you learn to read?’
‘MaKiki taught me.’
‘A tinker who reads.’ With one eyebrow arched, Sal thrust the letter into Lita’s hands and then folded her arms across her chest.
‘We traded books too,’ Lita said, as she neatened the edges of the letter. ‘I never thought it was a special thing, though I suppose maybe it is.’
‘Apart from that, you talk fancy. More like a Sia than a tinker’s daughter. What was her name again?’
‘Kiki.’
‘And she come from where?’
‘She never said. MaKiki didn’t like to talk about the past.’
Sal sighed. ‘Whoever MaKiki was, she were strange. Still I’d say there’s a home for you here, if you want it. When you meet Senna Worrel, which’ll be
soon enough, he’ll seem gruff but take no mind of him, he’s kept many a stray over the years, myself included.’
‘Shall I start reading?’ Lita asked.
Sal nodded and settled deeper into her seat.
‘Dear Salianna,’ Lita began. ‘But I thought your name was Sal,’ she said, looking up.
‘Salianna’s my birth name, and she never misses a chance to remind me.’ Sal waved back at the paper. ‘Gorn, keep reading then.’
Lita cleared her throat. ‘It’s good to hear you’re well. We’ve not been so lucky. Bort lay sick abed with palsy for ten days and I thought he was a gonna. Not that I would tell anyone (excepting you) but it even crossed my mind to find a herbwitch. Thank the Immortal Brother I didn’t though. Who knows what mean fate might have come on us then. Instead, Bort remembered he’d buried a couple of silvers under the stoop and I took them to The Blessed Order for some holy water. Within hours of taking it, he began to improve. Since then, he’s come on, excepting for a stiffness on the right side of his face. It was certainly enough to put the fear of the devil into him, and he’s rediscovered his piety.
‘I have to say I was let down when you knocked back my invitation again. If I had a mean spirit, I’d say you do it to spite me. Bort’s sister wonders why I keep trying. But I’m not ready to give up on you yet. One day I hope you see fit to move. Our Senna would even let you stay unbonded until you married. You would enjoy life at Shindalay and there are more than enough fine fellows, if that be your concern.’ So, Lita thought, Sal was unmarried. She wondered for a moment what else she might glean by reading the letter. But she was unprepared for the following words. ‘Since taking up a Beast herd…’ Here, the mention of Beasts yet again. It sent a little shiver all the way up Lita’s spine. She repeated the phrase, pretending that she had lost her place. ‘Since taking up a Beast herd our menfolk have been able to down picks and cleavers and return to their farms. As a result, Shindalay has come-on so. With leaked roofs patched, rotten timbers replaced, and flower boxes on every sill, Shindalay is on the up and up. Now when you walk through the village even the lowest of fellows doffs his hat.’
Sal snorted, and Lita lost her placed momentarily. After glancing at Sal, and noting that her lips were pursed tight, Lita continued, ‘With the greater supply of ore and other metals, there’s talk of many new things. Only yesterday, it was said the new copper mine would mean the chance of running water into every hold. Imagine that sister? I have to admit I was against them bringing the Beasts at first. After all, we’d heard all manner of things about them.
‘It was a strange thing - the coming of the Beasts. Done on a dark night, when you could hardly see your own hand if you held it to your eyes. I saw nothing of them but heard through Bort’s sister that they were mantled and cowled when they passed through our town.’
Just like the slaves at Yawmouth, Lita realised. Once again, there was a clashing of images in her head. Why was it that few folk had seen them? And even those that had, could not agree on their appearance? What were these Beasts? Where did they come from and what did they look like? She looked up to see that Sal’s face was pinched and sour. ‘Am I reading it fine?’ she asked.
‘Fine, fine. You have her blither-blather to a tee. I’d swear she was sitting before me.’ Sal motioned for her to continue.
‘When one of the tunnels in the mine collapsed, it was rumoured that a number of Beasts went unaccounted in the final tally of the dead. My neighbour had two hens go missing only days after the disaster and she’s sure runaway Beasts stole them. Yet all’s been quiet since, so maybe it was just a fox.’
Sal clucked her tongue and shook her head.
‘Though I pay no heed to nasty gossip, folk at market say the Downs had a poor season all round.’
‘Oh! The smuggity know-it-all. Excuse me, Lita.’
Lita continued. ‘The word is that the Downs – excuse the pun – is a sinking ship. Especially now that other Keeps are prospering so. Though I admire your loyalty to your Keep I urge you to rethink my offer.
‘So,’ Sal said. ‘Is that it?’
Lita shook her head.
‘Well then, what else does she say?’
Lita picked up where she had left off, ‘As you well know, Dolli is now a maiden in waiting to our Sia. I’m sure it won’t be long before she catches the eye of a rich merchant. She has turned out to be such a beauty and clever with her hands. Her needlework continues to be in high demand. But then it must be in the blood. You too were quite good I recall, and I am guessing you haven’t lost the art. Dolli could learn a lot from her aunt. But there I go pushing again. So now I will sign off with the simple hope that you change your mind. Be sure to send news from your Keep. With love, your sister Lania.’
‘Pushy know-it. I don’t know where she gets off thinking everyone would be wanting the grand life at Shindalay. For myself, I’m quite happy and have no wish for it to be otherwise.’ Sal snatched the parchment from Lita and crumpled it into a ball. ‘The Downs was once wealthy beyond compare.’ She shrugged, as if it was inconsequential. But the slight lift of her chin hinted at a different sentiment. ‘Anyhow, some things are of more value than wealth. But trying to explain that to Lania is as pointless as talking to a river. It goes its own way. She always thought she was better than the rest of us, especially when she moved to Shindalay Shales. And now she too owes her wealth to the blood and toil of the Beast. What’s it all coming to?’
Lita picked up her darning again, her thoughts on the Beasts of Shindalay. Who were these creatures, she wondered? Were they the savages of her imagination? With claws and fangs, living by wit and impulse? Or were they something else? And… what if Tipple had been right? What if she too, was a Beast?
*
Each night as Lita stole from her bed, she would wonder: is this the night I’ll be caught? And every time she thought it, her hands would tremble, and her breath grew tight in her chest. But, with the waning of the moon, Lita had to stop her nightly flights. In some ways, she was relieved. Working all day in the kitchens and spinning in the afternoons with Sal was hard enough, but then searching half the night, only to return to the Keep for a few hours of sleep, was bringing her to the point of exhaustion. It made her realise that life with MaKiki, though sometimes dull, had been easy and indulgent.
When Lita climbed into her bed that night – a small pallet Sal had set up at the other end of the quarters – she found she could not close her eyes. Her thoughts continued to sweep the grassy plains and forests. Had she missed something on one of those nights, she wondered. If she tried hard, was it possible she might recall something that would offer a clue?
She had found no sign of MaKiki in the small town of Tanglewood. Nor had the wagon returned to Tipple’s Hut. On Lita’s third evening, she thought she had found MaKiki when she spied a wagon with a black canvas roof. And when she saw a horse of Old Hodder’s stature tethered to a tree, her heart had raced. But on flying closer, she realised she had been mistaken because the horse had a black tail and mane. So similar was the resemblance and scent of the horse, she knew he must have been kin to Old Hodder. Nearby, an old man, with a spine as crooked as a donkey’s hind leg, sat beside the fire, gnawing at a bone, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve, spitting bits of gristle into the dirt.
Though the wagon was the same size and shape as MaKiki’s, it had none of its elegance. Its windows had been boarded up with rough-cut planks of wood and the side panels were pasted with a thick coat of lime. Apart from all that, the wagon had smelled wrong. The man had clearly been a bootlegger because liquor fumes seeped from the wagon. It had brought Tipple to mind instantly, and the memory of the old woman’s cruelty. Without so much as a backwards glance, Lita had left.
That night, and on the following evenings, she had found several wagons camped along the highway, but none of them had been MaKiki’s. And the special forest signs they had agreed to use if they ever became separated, were nowhere to be found.
No
w, after a week of searching, Lita had to wonder if she would ever find her guardian. It was becoming harder and harder to sustain her faith in MaKiki. Surely, they should have found each other by now. Unless, and this was a thought so terrible that it had only flitted at the corners of Lita’s mind, unless MaKiki was trying hard not to be found.
*
Someone tugged at Lita’s sleeve. She was in the middle of drawing water from the well, and the sharp, insistent tug nearly caused her to drop the bucket. She turned on the culprit – ready to dress him down, having decided it must be Siggy, the tallowmaker’s son. He was always playing pranks on others or thinking up inventive ways to taunt the cats of the Keep. Only yesterday, she had seen him tie a string to the tail of a ginger cat, and then double over with laughter as the cat dashed around the courtyard.
‘What!’ Lita demanded, as her eyes met those of Madea, the weaver girl. Though Lita had seen her a few times around the Keep, they had never spoken. According to the kitchen maids, the weaver girl was vain and cold. ‘Sorry,’ Lita said. ‘I thought you were somebody else.’
‘We need to talk,’ Madea said, casting her eyes over Lita’s red dress.
Lita returned the gaze. There was something brittle in the other girl. Not an inkling of a smile, no softness around the eyes. It was as if she meant to make you look away, but Lita had experience with faces like that. After all, it was MaKiki’s way of putting folk off. From a distance, Lita had thought Madea was much older, but up close she could see she’d been wrong. Madea was maybe a year or two older, though of course her figure was more like that of a woman. She was pretty too, in a very fussy sort of way. Her lustrous black hair had been swept into an elegant roll held together with delicate jewel-headed pins, her boots were free of scuffs or dirt, and her dress tailored to show off a tiny waist and full bust. Lita wondered too about her subtle glow: a faintly metallic lustre as though she had dusted mica into her bronzed skin. But her hands were work hands, sinewy and long, short nailed and stained with black dye.