The Family Shame

by Christopher Nuttall

  There was still no sign of Morag or Uncle Ira when I crept downstairs, so I walked into the library and started checking the spellbooks for charms that might blur or cut the blood-link between me and my family. There were fewer spells than I’d expected, mostly variants on the standard obscurification charm … I doubted they would slow Uncle Ira down for long, not if he was desperate to find me. The only promising spells were adoption spells, ones that changed my blood permanently, but they needed an adult to cast. They were simply too complex for me.

  And they’d need someone to adopt me, I thought. I didn’t know anyone who would, let alone could. Callam’s father probably couldn’t cast the spell. Anyone else … why would they want to adopt me? The spell would bring obligations with it, obligations that could not be easily avoided. I might have to rely on the obscurification charms.

  I gritted my teeth as I read my way through the different sets of instructions. One was so far beyond me that I almost hurled the book across the room in frustration. My father might be able to cast it, but I couldn’t. Another spell relied upon a Device of Power I couldn’t hope to forge, while a third … I read the instructions carefully. It would need a potion, but I thought I could brew it. The real problem would be testing it. I wouldn’t know it was working until I made my escape.

  And by then it would be too late to think twice, I thought, as I copied down the instructions. I wasn’t sure what I’d do when I reached Caithness, but … but there had to be something. The family’s agent would contact Father, surely? Or even the Arbiters. If they sent someone to see what was going on, I could tell them everything. Or maybe I should just walk across the border and vanish.

  I contemplated the possibilities for a long moment. Kids my age went into service all the time. I knew enough magic to be really useful to someone, if I changed my name and crossed the border. And yet, could I cope? Was I really desperate enough to abandon the chance of going home?

  Yes, I thought. Uncle Ira had nearly killed me. Who knew what would happen next? I can’t stay here.

  I walked into the potions lab, sorted out the ingredients and went to work, carefully brewing the obscurification potion. The recipe looked simple, on the face of it, but the timing had to be handled perfectly. I talked myself through it, time and time again, as the liquid started to bubble. It took me four tries to brew the potion successfully and, even then, I wasn’t entirely sure I’d done it properly. I couldn’t think of a way to test it.

  “It’s good to see you applying yourself,” a voice said.

  I jumped and spun around. Uncle Ira was standing there, looking inordinately amused at my reaction. How had he sneaked up on me? That was Morag’s trick! I should have heard him coming down the corridor, unless he’d cast a muffling charm on his feet. Or … I reached out to test the wards and noted that someone had strengthened them over the past few days. It was quite possible that they blocked anything that might distract me.

  “Thank you, Uncle,” I managed. I had to fight to keep my face straight. Uncle Ira was the last person I wanted to see right now. Morag might not have recognised the obscurification potion, if she’d glanced at the yellowish liquid, but I wasn’t so sure about Uncle Ira. He was a Potions Master. “I’m just experimenting with advanced potions.”

  “A very good idea,” Uncle Ira said. He looked around the lab, then back at me. “I’ll be leaving the hall to purchase more supplies in a week or two. Let me know if you need anything.”

  My heart leapt. “Where are you going?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t discuss that,” Uncle Ira said. “And” - he smiled at me, rather dryly - “I’m afraid I can’t take you, either.”

  “Oh,” I said, trying to look disappointed. “How long will you be gone?”

  “Not long,” Uncle Ira assured me. “Morag will keep you busy, I am sure. I’ll leave behind some tasks for you, just to make sure you keep your hand in. I’d like to get you up to a fifth-year level by the end of the year.”

  I was sure he was being far too optimistic for his own good - I hadn’t been a good potions student before I’d been sent into exile - but I kept that thought to myself. It was nice of him to think so highly of me, yet it didn’t matter. I didn’t think I could reach the same level as Sandy and her peers by then, but I could take advantage of his absence to make my escape. It would take hours, perhaps days, for Morag to realise I was gone and put out an alert. By then, I could be in Caithness.

  Unless he’s going to Caithness too, I thought. We might run into each other on the road.

  Uncle Ira turned, motioning for me to follow him. “I’ve read your last set of exercises for the correspondence course,” he said. “You appear to be doing well, but you could be doing better.”

  That’s because you keep giving me new potions to brew and Morag keeps putting me to work on the hall, I thought, crossly. I wasn’t fool enough to say that out loud. I don’t have time to work on my exercises when I’m too busy working for you.

  “Thank you, Uncle,” I said, instead. “I’ll work harder.”

  Uncle Ira gave me a sharp look. “See that you do,” he said. “A good grounding in charms is essential for future studies, particularly if you go into alchemy. It combines both potions and charms.”

  I scowled at the floor. “Can I find anyone willing to teach me alchemy?”

  “You might be surprised,” Uncle Ira said.

  I doubted it. Potions Masters were relatively common … Alchemical Masters, not so much. I thought it was the hardest mastery to gain, even though the rewards were immense. Father’s second cousin was the only Alchemical Master in the family and he had a position of considerable power. I silently kicked myself for not considering that path to power. They’d have to overlook my gender if I turned myself into an Alchemical Master. And I could have done it, a year ago. Now, I didn’t think there was an Alchemical Master in the city who’d have me as an apprentice.

  Uncle Ira led me up the stairs and into the dining room. Morag had been busy, I noticed; the walls had been scrubbed clean, the carpet had been brushed and a number of paintings had been carefully placed around the room, concealing damage that might otherwise have caught the eye. I felt a flicker of pity, mingled with relief. Morag had worked hard to prepare the room for us.

  “Be seated,” Uncle Ira said, as he rang the bell. “I will be having guests tomorrow.”

  I blinked. It was fairly obvious that someone was coming - probably several people, as Morag had forced me to clean a number of rooms - but who? And why was Uncle Ira telling me this now?

  “I expect you to remain out of sight at all times,” Uncle Ira added. “When you are in the hall, you are to remain in your room or the kitchens; when you are in the grounds, you are to stay away from the driveway. I don’t want my guests to get even a sniff of your presence. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes, Uncle,” I said, swallowing the urge to make a joke about soap and water. “I … who’s coming?”

  “Never you mind,” Uncle Ira said. “Just make very sure you stay out of sight.”

  “Or less pleasant measures will be taken to keep you concealed,” Morag said, from the doorway. She pushed a trolley of food into the room. “You won’t enjoy them.”

  “You could take me down to the town,” I said, before I could think better of it. “That would keep me out of sight.”

  “I could also turn you into a statue again,” Morag pointed out, nastily. “Or a tree. No one would notice a new tree in the forest.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” I said, quickly. “Senior, I’ll stay out of sight.”

  “Glad to hear it,” Uncle Ira said. “Morag, you may begin serving the food.”

  Morag did as she was told. I nodded my thanks as she ladled chicken stew onto my plate, my thoughts spinning in all directions. We had guests? Who were they? Why were they coming now? And … why did Uncle Ira want me to stay out of sight? Visitors from the family would know I was there, wouldn’t they? Uncle Ira wouldn’t be able to
hide me away. I felt a flash of hope - maybe it was Father - before it faded into nothingness. Uncle Ira couldn’t have kept me from my father.

  He’d be doing other things to keep me from talking instead, I thought.

  I’d hoped to return to the lab after lunch, but Morag snared me before I could escape and put me to work. She had me peeling potatoes, slicing up vegetables and even dissecting a raw chicken for curry. I would have found it fascinating if I hadn’t been so desperate to get away. I wanted to hide the bag in the cottage before it started to get dark, then do as much research as possible while waiting for Uncle Ira to leave. If I was really lucky, I might find something that would allow me to be sure I couldn’t be tracked with magic.

  Cat could probably forge something to do the job, I thought, as we ate a quiet dinner before bed. It was a bitter thought. I wish I had that talent.

  I wondered, again, if I could teach Callam to forge. But I couldn’t see any way to do it without bringing him into the hall … and I couldn’t do that without setting off the alarms. I considered the problem again and again, as I made my way up to my room, but nothing came to mind. There just was no way to get Callam into the hall, not without Uncle Ira’s permission. And I was sure that permission would not be forthcoming …

  Of course not, I thought. Uncle Ira might not be particularly concerned about my reputation, but Morag would be. We won’t be chaperoned …

  I stopped, dead, as I realised what I’d forgotten. The date. I’d forgotten the date. I’d forgotten its significance. It was my birthday. And no one had remembered.

  Not even me.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  “Today’s your birthday?”

  “Yesterday,” I said. Callam was working on a new treehouse, cutting down logs and splitting them into planks. He’d clearly been busy for several days. “No one remembered.”

  Callam glanced at me, sweat clearly visible on his face. “Did you tell them?”

  “No,” I said. I wondered just how I’d managed to lose track of time quite so badly. Back home, I’d have had a large party. My parents would have thrown open the grounds for my friends - and the girls I’d had to invite for political reasons - and Akin and I would have been prince and princess for the day. “I thought they knew.”

  And I forgot myself, I added silently. But I wasn’t going to admit to that.

  “You didn’t tell me,” Callam pointed out. He met my eyes. “Do you want your uncle giving you birthday presents?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I just …”

  I shook my head. Back home, Akin would have hosted a party on his own. Mother would probably have stood over him as he wrote the guest list, insisting that he added a number of people he would probably never have invited without being prodded. I wondered how many of my former friends had been invited and how many of them had actually gone. Cat would be going, of course. Her presence would probably draw a number of fair-weather friends to the grounds. Mother wouldn’t be telling everyone that she only ever had one child, I hoped, but many of my distant aunts would be insisting that I’d simply never existed. I was the family shame.

  And it hurt. More than I cared to admit.

  Callam put down the wood he’d been carving. “I’m sorry I didn’t get you a present,” he said, seriously. “What would you like?”

  “Something that helps me get out of here,” I said, kicking myself. Callam probably couldn’t afford a real present. I should never have raised the subject. “Or … I don’t know.”

  “We could go for a walk,” Callam said. “There are some places we could visit.”

  I looked up, interested. I’d been told to stay out of sight all day. I’d even made sure to pack a large lunch for myself - sandwiches and bottled water - just to make sure I didn’t have to go back to the hall in a hurry. There was nothing stopping us from going on a long walk outside the grounds, as long as Uncle Ira didn’t check on me personally. And I had a feeling he was going to be busy. I’d sneaked a look at the front of the hall as I’d waited for Callam and a handful of carriages had been parked outside. The horses and drivers had been having a picnic on the lawn.

  “Sounds like a plan, as long as we stay out of sight,” I said. “Where do you want to go?”

  “There’s an old city not too far away,” Callam said. “It’s in ruins. Most people won’t go near it. But I’ve been there.”

  I frowned. “An old city?”

  “It’s very old,” Callam said. He held out a hand. “Interested?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Why not?”

  I hid the doll on the far side of the grounds, then followed Callam as we walked around to the river and through the gap in the wards. The water felt colder, somehow, but I ignored it. Callam simply kept walking, allowing his trousers to keep dripping dry as he moved. I felt better, somehow, as we found another path and headed up it. My navigation skills weren’t all that great, but I had the feeling that we were moving further away from the town.

  “We are,” Callam confirmed, when I asked. “We have about forty minutes of walking ahead of us.”

  I groaned, but kept moving anyway. I’d played netball at Jude’s - I felt a moment of bitter remorse for the strings I’d pulled to get on the team - and yet, it simply hadn’t been any real preparation for a long walk. I silently thanked Callam for the walks - and chases - we’d had around the estate. Even so, my muscles were aching within ten minutes. Sweat ran down my back as the sun grew hotter, brilliant rays of light driving away the shade. I’d never been so hot in my life. Even the seaside hadn’t been so bad.

  The landscape changed rapidly as we came out of the valley and strode down a path that was only barely discernible from the surrounding lands. It was curiously desolate, the open spaces broken only by patches of trees and gorse bushes; I could see a handful of stone cottages, scattered across the land, but there was no one in sight. One of the cottages, the only one by the path, had clearly been abandoned hundreds of years ago. The wind and rain was slowly tearing it apart.

  I looked at Callam’s back, wondering how he managed to keep going. “Did … did they find the brats?”

  Callam shook his head without turning. “No,” he said. He slowed his pace to allow me a chance to catch up. “They didn’t find any trace of them.”

  I glanced at him. “Wild animals?”

  “They should have found something,” Callam said. “No sheep were gone, you see. Bill didn’t have any trouble rounding the beasts up and marching them back to town. I’d expect a wolf to be more interested in devouring the sheep than those two.”

  “The poor wolf probably got a bellyache,” I said.

  “A wolf wouldn’t have eaten the bones,” Callam told me. “There should be some trace of them left. Either they ran off or …”

  He stopped and pointed into the distance. “Do you see that?”

  I followed his finger, gasping for breath. The land was … unchanged. No, the grass was slowly changing colour. It was a greenish-yellowish near us, but in the distance it was almost pure green. I could see butterflies and birds flying over the green grass, yet … there was something odd about it. It took me a long moment to realise what it was. The birds were trying to stay well away from the green grass. They swooped down over the yellow grass …

  “That’s the mire,” Callam said, quietly. “A swamp, barely visible. Don’t put your foot in it or you’ll wind up dead.”

  I swallowed, hard. “Did they walk into the mire?”

  “It’s possible,” Callam said. His voice was very quiet. “A couple of old hunters are supposed to know ways through the mire, ways that allow them to reach the centre of the swamp, but they’ve never shared their secrets with me. Hart and Hound could have been trying to get to the island and simply put their feet in the wrong place …”

  “Ouch,” I said. I hadn’t liked either of the boys, but drowning in a swamp was not a pleasant way to go. “Let’s hope they just went to join the army.”

  “Yeah,”
Callam said. His voice was odd. “Let’s hope.”

  We took a sip of water, then resumed our walk. The sun managed to grow hotter, so hot I finally gave in and muttered a simple cooling charm. It didn’t seem to work as well as I’d hoped. The air buzzed with insects, little creatures swarming around us and vanishing every time we tried to swat them; I promised myself that, if we came this way again, I’d find a charm to repel insects. It had never been a problem in Shallot.

  “We’re nearly there,” Callam said. “Stop and take a look behind you.”

  I turned and stared. There was no sign of Kirkhaven Town, let alone Kirkhaven Hall. The landscape looked as bleak and desolate as the terrain I remembered, back when I’d first been driven up to Kirkhaven Hall. Nothing moved, save for a handful of birds. I wondered, suddenly, just how easy it would be to get lost. One hill looked very much like another, as far as I could tell. I thought I could see the path, but … it went too close to the swamp for comfort. No wonder no one went out at night.

  “Come on,” Callam said. “We just need to get over this hill.”

  I nodded and followed him, climbing up the rocky path. The aches and pains in my arms and legs had slowly faded away, to be replaced by a dull throbbing that insisted I’d need a bath as soon as I returned to the hall. Uncle Ira’s guests wouldn’t be infesting the fifth floor, would they? I didn’t think so. Morag had told me to use the servant passageways and stairs, after all. She would have told me to stay in my room if she’d thought there was the slightest chance of being seen.

  We reached the top of the hill and stopped, staring down into the valley. Callam had been right, I realised dully as I struggled to comprehend what I was seeing; the ruined city was indeed spectacular. I’d wondered why it hadn’t been rebuilt - I’d been told there were layers upon layers of buried buildings under Shallot - but I understood the moment I laid eyes on it. The city was completely beyond repair. Indeed, it was really nothing more than giant piles of rubble.