Sneaks

by B Button

  The door opened immediately. “Lord Duncan.”

  “Take the girl to the dungeon. Have her tell ye where the wolf was. Send some men.” He turned, his wide back almost completely covered with his long dark hair.

  “No, wait!” I said. “I have . . . I have more.”

  “More what?” Duncan faced me again.

  “I can do more. I can give you a reason not to put me in the dungeon.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “I can fix the clock.” I pointed to the beautiful timepiece I had noticed before.

  Lord Duncan laughed. “Now why would that be enough for me to keep ye out of the dungeon?”

  I shrugged. “How long has it been broken?”

  “I dinna ken.” He looked at the clock. “For some time.”

  “Wouldn’t it be better to have it working? And what about the other clocks in the castle, are they all working? I can fix them all. People forget how much they like their clocks when they’re not working. They usually like them to be fixed.”

  “Corc, have we no one who fixes the clocks?” Duncan asked.

  “I’m not aware of anyone lord, but I could conduct a search.”

  Lord Duncan marched to the ledge and grabbed the clock. He carried it to the table and set it down with a thud. I cringed. The clock was one of the most beautiful I’d ever seen. Even though it was old to someone from 2184, it wasn’t worn like most of the clocks I fixed at home. The wood case was low and squat and had lions carved into it on each side of the face. The face was some sort of white ceramic and the numerals looked like carved stone but I couldn’t be sure.

  I reached into my pocket.

  “Lass, what are ye doing?” Lord Duncan asked.

  “My tools are in my pocket.” I pulled them out and set them on the table.

  “Ooch, these are sharp. They could be used as weapons,” Corc said.

  “You think I could stop either of you with this?” I held up a small thin screwdriver. “Really?”

  Corc looked at Lord Duncan, who raised his eyebrows in doubt.

  “Continue, lass,” Lord Duncan said.

  I’d never repaired a clock in front of an audience, especially one that wanted to put me in a dungeon. But, the fix might easy. Once I removed the face, it was clear that the only problem was with the mainspring. I put everything back to where it was supposed to be, put the face back on, set the time and wound the key that was inserted in the back. The clock began its rhythmic tick-tock, and I smiled, pleased with myself.

  “There,” I said, feeling no less satisfaction than I ever felt when wheels started turning and gears moved with ease. “I can do that for almost any broken clock.”

  Lord Duncan stared at me as rubbed his finger under his nose. “I have no idea why yer skill might be valuable, but I do like that the clock is working.” He sat down. “I’m Brian Duncan, the laird of this land. Ye’ll not leave the castle without permission, but I will allow ye to live outside the dungeon. We’ll gather all the broken clocks, if there are any others, and ye’ll fix them. I’ll look into yer wolf story and we’ll see what to do with ye then.”

  “I understand.” I would escape from this place the second everyone’s back was turned. I might even use my tools as weapons.

  “Corc, take her to Una. She must dress appropriately. Find her a room to sleep and a place to work on the clocks.”

  “Aye, yes, Lord Duncan.”

  Corc made a move to grab my arm again, but I pulled it back.

  “I’ll go with you. You don’t need to shove me around,” I said, even fear for my life didn’t stop me. I’d never been man-handled but it only took it happening once to realize I didn’t like it. My arm was tender where he had already grabbed it tightly.

  For a long moment, I thought I might have made them change their minds and they’d send me to the dungeon.

  “She’s a lass, Corc, no matter how she dresses. The bairn is safe, we ken that now. Ye’ll not hurt her,” Duncan said softly.

  “Aye.” Corc obeyed but I could tell he didn’t want to.

  I stood and put my tools back into my pocket. I looked at the laird, who looked back at me with an expression I couldn’t read. He seemed suddenly sad, maybe. I turned to follow Corc.

  Silently, he led the way down another long hallway. The castle was big, but the halls didn’t seem complicated. I could get lost, but I’d probably be able to find my way out of whatever maze I got myself into. I tried to memorize everything. I was going to escape, but I would have to wait until the time was right, and who knew where I’d be when that happened.

  “Una," Corc said into an open doorway. "The lass needs yer attention. The laird wants her to dress more respectable. She’s to have a room with a bed and some space to work. She’s a magic touch with clocks.”

  “Clocks?” Una said as she met Corc at the doorway. “How is she magic?”

  “She fixes them.”

  Una continued to look perplexed for a moment, but she shrugged and extended her hand. “Come in, lass. We’ll take care of ye.”

  Corc turned and walked back the other direction.

  I didn’t take Una’s hand. I was tired of being touched, even if she seemed like she might be gentle. She didn’t seem to mind and motioned me in.

  The room was as large as the laird's, filled with a bed, a dresser of sorts and something that I thought was called a wardrobe.

  Along with Una, two young girls were in the room.

  “Bonnie,” Una said to a young girl who badly needed to wash her long red hair, “fetch some water. Help me clean and dress this one so she looks not so much like a beggar. We’ll need something a bit bigger than normal.”

  Whether or not I looked like a beggar, I knew I looked different than everyone else. I was dressed differently, and I was also bigger than everyone. I wasn’t overweight, but I was so much taller than the women and some of the men I had seen, that I must have looked gigantic. I was a gigantic beggar from 2184.

  “Maisie, off with ye to find something she can eat.” Maisie had a head full of brown curly hair. She kept her glance to the ground and curtsied before leaving the room. I hoped no one asked me to curtsie.

  “What is yer name, lass?” Una asked when we were alone.

  “Kally. Kally Bright.”

  “Weel, Kally, ye certainly canna dress like yer dressed.”

  It was awful to be touched and prodded at by so many people, but at least they weren't shoving me around. Soon, I was scrubbed, combed, braided and dressed in a yellow dress that itched a little and was too tight in my shoulders. The dress didn’t cover my ankles and that seemed to be an issue, but Una didn’t have an immediate solution to the problem. I tried on some shoes that were similar to my Govment-issued flats, but they were all too small, so I kept my new sneakers. The dress had pockets so I had a place to put my tools, which were interesting for only a second to my dressers.

  I had never worn a dress. I'd never wanted to wear a dress, and this one was worse than any I could have imagined. It dug into my shoulders and made me feel naked and airy. Why did women ever wear these?

  “There, that will have to do,” Una said as she tied a ribbon in my hair, and brushed some reddish powder on my cheeks. I wasn’t a ribbon or make-up sort of girl, either, but I figured I’d save my battles for something more important. “Not the best, but the best we can do for now.” Her disapproving glance started at the ribbon and stopped at my shoes.

  “I dinna ken about those shoes, lass.”

  As I shrugged, my stomach growled – no, roared.

  “Och, of course ye are hungry. Go, eat the food.”

  She didn’t have to tell me twice. I sat on the edge of the bed and took the plate that had been placed on the dresser. I ate bread with butter and drank milk. Everything tasted so good. I wasn’t used to eating bread so thick or real butter. We ate fine at home, but nothing was homemade like this tasted.

  “Where’re ye from, Kally?” Una asked as she wrung out some of the
wash cloths they had used to get me cleaned up.

  “I don’t remember. Some place not close to Scotland. Maybe near London.” London’s name hadn’t changed for centuries.

  “Ye dinna remember?”

  I shrugged.

  Una’s eyes pinched and she looked down her long hook nose. She thought there was something wrong with my story. I kept silent.

  I ate, as lady-likely as I could, and drank the perfect milk. After Bonnie left the room, Una and Maisie watched me, Una wasn't shy, but Maisie was. They had other things to discuss between the two of them. At first I tried to listen as they talked about household chores and what was to be done before the weekend after next, during which a great party was planned. I was more interested in my food than the castle list-of-things-to-do, but my ears perked at the idea of a party. A busy castle might provide me with the opportunity I needed to escape.

  “Miss,” a voice squawked from the doorway. We all turned to see Ian, his face burning slightly from his voice break, standing impatiently.

  “Ah, Ian, lad. When Mistress Kally is finished eating, will ye please take her to the kitchen. I’ve asked Bonnie to set her up a corner worktable. She’ll be fixing clocks, of all things.”

  I chewed on the bread and glanced at Ian. He seemed scared or nervous about something. Was he scared of Una? Had Corc done something to him?

  “Aye,” he said, as he looked every direction but at me.

  I gulped down the last of the milk and shoved the last piece of bread in my mouth. I wanted to ask for more, but if I was going to work in the kitchen I might be able to get some on my own.

  “Off with ye, lass,” Una said.

  I nodded again and joined Ian in the hall.

  “This way, Mistress Kally.”

  I was taller than him, but not much.

  “Ye look nice,” he said. Even in the dim light, I could see his face blush.

  “Uh, thanks,” I said. “I think the laird wanted me dressed like this instead of in my jeans . . . uh, pants and shirt.”

  “Was he kind to ye?”

  “At first he was mean, but then he wasn’t terrible.”

  “He’s having a difficult time.”

  “Why?”

  Ian stopped walking and looked at me. “He didna tell ye?”

  “I . . . I don’t think so.”

  “The bairn, the babe, he’s my brother, taken from our mother’s death bed. He was barely a month old when she died. The laird’s our father.”

  “Oh.” That explained some things at least. Lots of things.

  “Oh,” I repeated. “Ian, I didn’t take your brother. I saved him. From some wild animal. I think it was a wolf.”

  Ian’s eyes pinched. “I hope ye didna take him. If my father thought ye did, ye’d be in the dungeon.”

  “I didn’t. I swear.”

  “Och, ye shouldna swear.” Ian turned and continued walking.

  I kept my mouth shut.

  Ian stopped again when we reached a fork in the hallway. “Do ye want to see him again, my brother?”

  “Um, sure,” I said, thinking that’s what I should say. I was glad the baby was being cared for, but I was relieved not to be the one who had to figure out what to do with him.

  I followed him down another hallway.

  “This is Mac’s room.”

  “Mac?”

  “Aye. His name is MacCauley McCandlass Duncan. Mac.”

  “I like that.”

  We went into a room that was full of busy women.

  Mac was on some thick blankets on a table. A young girl tickled his belly and talked to him. The wound on his arm was covered with something much cleaner than what I and Berna had used. He looked up at the girl. Other women moved about the room doing all sorts of things – folding clothes, cleaning and who knew what else.

  “Go on. Go on over and say hello to him.” Ian pushed at my elbow.

  I walked to the baby. The girl looked at me and smiled. I’d noticed that dental hygiene wasn’t first on the list of an 18th century Scottish person, but his poor girl was worse than most. Her teeth were black. She must have been in pain.

  I looked at Ian and back at the girl. “May I say hello?” I asked.

  “Aye, of course.” She nodded and stepped away from the table.

  “Hi,” I said as I looked at him. He was very clean and his thick hair stuck up all over the place. He most definitely was his father’s son. His face was round now, but someday it would hold the sharp lines I’d seen in the laird.

  He looked at me for an instant and then broke out into a huge toothless, saliva-covered grin as his arms and legs pumped the air.

  “He recognizes ye, Kally,” Ian said as he too looked at his baby brother.

  “I doubt it. He’s just a baby.”

  “No, I think he recognizes ye. Look at him.”

  Mac wouldn’t take his eyes from mine. Despite not being much of a baby person, I thought he was kind of cute.

  “If Da could see this, he would know ye didna take him.”

  I didn’t think the laird would have taken the baby’s word for anything, but I didn’t say as much.

  I touched his soft belly. His arms and legs pumped. I took my finger off and then put it back on just to see if he’d do it again; he did. I didn’t want to smile but I couldn’t help it.

  Ian laughed. “Ye couldn’t have harmed him. I see that.”

  “I didn’t, I sw . . . I promise,” I said, hopefully using a better word.

  Ian looked nothing like his father. I could see what his mother must have looked like: fine features, bright blue eyes and deep red hair. Ian wouldn’t turn into the skyscraper of a man his father was, but he would be . . . what would Granny say? Striking.

  No man was striking back home. They were all just different versions of the same thing. Same faces, same haircuts, same clothes. So much same.

  Ian had dark circles under his eyes and though he smiled, he seemed sad, like his father had. Ian had lost his mother, and the laird had lost his wife, and the baby had been taken. They’d been through some horrible stuff.

  “I’m glad he’s home,” I said as I quit torturing him by tickling his stomach.

  “We all are. Come along, I’ll show ye where ye will work – where ye will fix clocks, of all things.”

  *****

  I was given a table in the kitchen, in the corner under a big window that didn’t have any glass. I’d spent so much time working in my basement shop that I’d never known what it was like to have so much light; that is, when the sun was shining. It rained a lot, but the rain was different than the rain from home. When it rained at home, it stunk. When it rained in 18th century Scotland, it smelled good; sweet and comforting.

  At first, no one knew what to make of me as I sat at my empty table eyeing the food all around. But on my third day in Scotland, three people brought me clocks to fix. The kitchen staff became interested in my work, which was okay by me because they all learned how much I liked bread, butter and milk. If any of them had time to watch me work they’d leave a plate of food and a cup of milk. By the end of the first week, I had two tables full of clocks to fix and a full stomach.

  Ian told me that news had spread around the village about my skill. It was hard to believe that no one else knew how to fix clocks, but I was lucky to have something that kept me valuable enough to stay out of the dungeon.

  I didn’t see the laird or the baby at all, but Una and Corc stopped by my table frequently. They’d look at me funny and sometimes say something, sometimes not. I didn’t care, and I got used to having an audience.

  By the middle of the week, Ian was at my side almost constantly. He was more fascinated than anyone else at my skill. He asked me to teach him.

  I didn’t know how to teach someone. I’d learned just by watching my grandmother, but she’d never instructed me. I'd just watched and did what she did.

  I taught the best I could, and somewhere along the way Ian and I became friends.

&
nbsp; I didn’t have any friends really. Friendship wasn’t encouraged at home. We were supposed to go to school, get married at eighteen and then we were told what other couples we could do things with. And we were forbidden from being alone with the opposite sex until after we were married. There were no boy/girl friendships, and no dating like my grandmother had done. Boys and girls went to school together but each of the classrooms had a boy side and a girl side.

  I knew boys, but only a little and only enough to wonder if I would have to choose one of them to marry. After receiving the letter, I knew I’d be choosing from a group of people I’d never met: divorced or widowed. I was marrying someone older than me, maybe lots older.

  I began to look forward to ‘teaching’ Ian and making a friend. A friend, it turned out, was just someone you liked to talk to, liked to be around. It wasn't hard and it was fun even if I fought having fun while I was a prisoner.

  Ian was fourteen, had a desire to become a great fighter, and he read books more quickly than anyone else in the castle.

  He made me smile and laugh and he took away the desperate moments of longing that dug out my stomach when I thought about my mother. What did she think had happened to me? I missed her.

  “Are ye going to let me do this one by myself?” Ian said on the first day of my second week in the castle. “It’s just this . . . right here, it’s just this.” He pointed.

  “It’s called a mainspring. You forget that all the time.”

  “I ken, but I dinna ken why.” He scratched at his head. “Mainspring. I will write the word a hundred times later to remember it.”

  “You will?”

  “No, but I thought that’s what ye’d like to hear.”

  “Here, take this,” I handed him some small pliers, “and pull up gently.”

  With the pliers he took hold of the end of the spring. But he didn’t pull gently.

  “Oops. No, not like that. Here, put your fingers like this.” I put my hand over his larger one and guided his fingers through the maneuver. The spring attached easily.

  “See, you just have to take your time.” I went to pull my hand off his. He’d turned his hand, though, and for a second it seemed he was trying to hold mine. He released it before it was too noticeable, but his blush gave him away.