Celandine

by Steve Augarde

  Berin and Tuz soon joined them, and once again it was Tuz whose eyes proved the sharpest. He stooped and lifted something from the mud and rocks at the edge of the largest pool.

  ‘Hsst!’

  The others looked toward him. Tuz had found the Touchstone. He wiped it on the front of his rabbitskin jerkin and the hunters gathered round to examine it. As far as they could see it was undamaged by its fall.

  ‘We s’ll be King’s Guard for exchange o’ this,’ said Berin. ‘Good on ’ee, Tuz.’

  A further discovery secured their promotion; a piece of material, just visible, floating a little way out upon the surface of the same pool. Faro found a long broken branch and waded a few steps into the waters. The ground shelved away steeply and he had some difficulty in keeping his balance, but he managed to hook the bough onto the material. The object sank beneath the weight of the branch as he pulled it toward him and he had to dip his bared arm into the dark water in order to retrieve it. As he bent forward he gave a sudden cry of alarm. In reaching for the material, his fingers had brushed against something else – the unmistakable touch of another hand, cold and lifeless beneath the murky swirl of the waters.

  ‘Acchh!’ Faro splashed backwards in horror, dragging the sodden lump of cloth with him. He couldn’t get back to the shore quickly enough, and fairly ran through the shallows, lifting his knees high and dropping the object that he had retrieved at the water’s edge. He clambered up onto the rocks, and hopped about with his fists tucked beneath his armpits. ‘Ach! She’m down there! Ugh!’

  ‘Did ’ee see her then?’

  ‘Aye.’ Faro shuddered. ‘Touched her, anywise. Ugh!’

  ‘’Tis all to the good, then. For now we’m sure.’

  Berin and Tuz wrung out the piece of material that Faro had brought ashore – and now they could be certain of their coming rise in fortune. They recognized the object plainly enough. It was Una’s shoulder-wrap.

  Once again there was sorrow and respect in Corben’s voice as he addressed the Elders. ‘This be a sad ending for one so young. ’Tis plain that my brother’s child have drowned herself for shame, and it should never have been. But,’ he sighed, ‘’Tis done. She lies beneath the very waters that took the life of her father, and now have taken hers. So be it, then. We must put our sorrows aside, and journey on. Our way ahead be clear, and the Stone safe. When once those that ail have recovered we shall set forth. ’Tis not far to go.’

  ‘And now ’tis thee that we follow,’ said Haima. ‘Ye must take up the Touchstone, Corben, and lead us as King.’

  ‘Aye.’ Corben gave another sad sigh. ‘That I must. Come sun-wane, then, I shall choose my Guard.’

  He looked about at the gathered company, their faces solemn in the early morning sunshine. They would follow him, and do his bidding. He noticed the stooped and ivy-wreathed figure of Maven-the-Green lurking among the undergrowth at the fringes of the gathering. The mad hag. Something about her was different – a malevolence in her gaze, perhaps, that had not been there before. She had been friend to the witchi child, and might now be his enemy. No matter. He would deal with her as he chose.

  Chapter Sixteen

  ALL THE LITTLE details of her surroundings were thrown sharply into focus by the bright sunshine, yet to Celandine this somehow had the effect of making the world seem more dreamlike than ever.

  She looked at the ragged shoulders of Fin’s jerkin, roughly hemmed now with the green fishing line that she herself had supplied, and shook her head for the thousandth time at the marvel of him. She saw the rabbit that he stood on tiptoe to reach, a lifeless body, surprisingly long, dangling from its snare at the end of a springy bough. In the distance she could see the grey-brown Naiad horses, ungainly creatures, whisking at the summer flies with their tufted tails. And there was Pato talking to one of the Wisp – a young fisher they called Moz, who proudly showed off the string of eels that he had caught. The skin of the eels had already become dry and leathery in the sunshine. All the everyday sights and routines of the forest Celandine watched, the ordered comings and goings of the Various, as unremarkable as those of the farmworkers in the outside world, and yet she still sometimes felt that she would suddenly wake up with a start, wide-eyed and wondering, in her bed at home.

  Well, today she would have to wake up, if she was to accomplish all that she planned. It was time, Celandine had decided, to pay a visit to Mill Farm. She wanted books and clothes, and any number of other essentials, and she could delay no longer.

  Many times she had rehearsed the late night foray in her mind, and always she hit the same stumbling block. Farm life was hard and sleep was precious, so there was little fear that any human head would be stirring in the dark hour when she intended to arrive. She believed that she could slip in and out easily enough – undiscovered by her family or their employees. No, it was not the weary inhabitants of the farm that worried her. It was the dogs.

  Cribb and Jude were loosed every night, and were not fed until morning. The fearsome lurchers prowled the yard from midnight till dawn, their hunger keeping them sharp, free to deal with any intruder upon their territory. Cribb would not hurt her, she felt certain, although he might well raise an alarm, but Jude she was less sure of. Jude had never been known to bark, but his silence made him all the more terrifying. There was something mad in the eye of Jude, a cold splinter of iron in that look of his, so that it made you shiver just to walk past him, no matter how innocent your purpose. And if ever he attacked, nothing would stop him. Celandine remembered the foxhound, a stray from the local meet that had once made the mistake of trotting through the stableyard, following some scent of his own imagining. Jude had gone for him – no warning, no sound – and none of the stablehands could pull him off until the job was done.

  Erstcourt had shrugged at the rueful expression of the huntsman who came to collect the torn and bloodied carcass of the hound.

  ‘It’s no more than his duty,’ her father had said. ‘They’re all foxes to Jude, whether they’ve four legs or two.’

  It was an exaggeration – Jude had yet to attack a human – but Celandine wanted to take as few chances as possible.

  Hence the rabbits. Fin managed to unsnare the one that dangled from its sapling and handed it to her. Now she had two. She intended to use them as bait, or a bribe, if she should meet with the night-watchmen of the stableyard. ‘Good lad! Gooood lad!’ She whispered softly to herself, already picturing such an encounter. Fin grinned up at her, thinking that her words were for him.

  She carried her empty canvas bag in one hand and the rabbits in the other as she made her way down the dark hillside. It would have been easier to transport the furry corpses in the bag, but she wanted them instantly available. She had decided that her first purpose must be to actively seek out the dogs and be friendly to them, reassure them that she meant no harm. Better that than try to avoid them and so risk a surprise attack. She hoped that they remembered who she was.

  The noises of the night made her nervous and she glanced behind her once or twice, thinking that something was following her. No, nothing there. The scrubby hillside was bare in the moonlight.

  It had been difficult to make Fin understand that she would soon return. He had been content enough to escort her through the dark wicker tunnel, but had become agitated once he grasped her intent of going further – without him.

  ‘Noooo!’ His earnest eyes flashed up at her in the darkness, and he tugged at her pinafore. ‘Is Gorji there! Is get you!’

  ‘Don’t worry, Fin,’ she had whispered in return. ‘I’ll be back soon. Yes, and I’ll bring you some cake. Yes, I will. Some cake!’

  ‘Cake-cake-cake …’ The thought of it appeared to mollify him, and he remained by the brambles at the entrance of the tunnel, looking wonderingly up at the night sky and murmuring to himself, his attention already drifting elsewhere.

  She didn’t really suppose that there would be time to search for cake, but the ploy had served its purpose.

>   Now she crossed the thistly paddock and crept up to the big gate that led into the stableyard. Her heart was beating fast, thudding in her chest, and she stood still for a few moments, trying to regain control of her breathing. So long it had been, since she was last here. Weeks. All was peaceful, no sign of movement among the cluster of dark buildings.

  Celandine quietly removed her heavy shoes as she had planned, placing them next to the gatepost. It would be impossible to walk soundlessly through the farmhouse with them on.

  The grass was wet with night-dew and her stockinged feet were instantly soaked. No matter. She had suffered worse. A few more moments to gather her courage, then she leaned against the cool metal of the gate and half-whistled, very softly.

  ‘Whit-whit-whit. Cribb! Come, boy. Jude! Come, boy. Whit-whit.’ Her voice was barely a whisper in the still night air, but immediately she heard the scrabble of claws on cobbled stone, and the two great lurchers appeared beside the corner of the open barn to her left – first Cribb, then Jude. They stood close together, heads low, searching the shadows for the direction of the sound. Then they spotted her, and seemed to grow larger in response to the unknown threat. Huge they were, as big as wolves and easily as powerful, hackles raised, ready to defend their own against all comers. The air crackled with Cribb’s deep growl.

  ‘Good lad. Goood lad.’ Celandine could feel her nerve going. Don’t bark. Please don’t bark.

  Cribb lifted his head at her voice, seemed to recognize her. She saw his tail move briefly, just a quick swish back and forth. Jude still crouched low, teeth bared, unconvinced. Twin moons reflected in his eyes – pale yellow discs, blank and sinister.

  ‘Good boys. Yes. Yes.’ Celandine awkwardly thrust one of the rabbits through the bars of the gate, and both dogs stiffened at the sudden movement. Cribb took a step backwards, unsure, before stretching his head forward and sniffing curiously. Jude never flinched, never blinked. His muzzle remained fixed in a silent snarl.

  Celandine swung the rabbit towards the dogs and let go. The limp carcass landed with a soft thump on the cobbles. Again Cribb stepped backwards – then another brief wag of the tail, and he approached the rabbit, sniffing at it, turning it over with his nose.

  Still no reaction from Jude.

  ‘There’s a good boy. Good Jude. Good Jude.’ Celandine threw the second rabbit. Jude didn’t even glance at it. He was waiting for her, she felt, daring her to actually enter his territory.

  So be it then. She hesitantly stood on the first bar of the gate, clutching her empty bag, never taking her eyes off Jude. Another step up, a huge effort of nerve, and she was able to get a leg over the top bar. This would be the moment, if it was going to happen. Celandine imagined the great beast launching himself at her throat, and the terror of it made her swallow. What was she doing? There was a horrible crunch of powerful teeth on bone. Cribb was gnawing at the rabbit. Jude turned his head momentarily to look at his brother. When he faced her once more, the moon had gone out of his eyes, and his fangs were no longer bared. The spell was broken. Now his gaze was simply cold. A grudging permission seemed to have been granted.

  She climbed cautiously down from the gate. Again the muzzle of Jude wrinkled into a brief half-snarl, a warning that she had better keep well clear of him if she knew what was good for her. Celandine sidled past the two dogs and tiptoed across the yard. She glanced over her shoulder as she climbed the two steps that led up to the front path of the farmhouse. Cribb was lying down now, tackling his unexpected meal in grisly earnest. Jude was still looking at her, a motionless shadow in the pale night, his own rabbit lying untouched upon the cold cobbles.

  The scullery door was unlocked, as she had guessed it would be. How strange it was to breathe once again that familiar atmosphere – of woodash, and washing soda, and piles of wet linen. It must be Monday, then, she supposed.

  A little light filtered in through the unshuttered windows, but she could have found her way through the house blindfold. Everything would be as it had always been. She knew which door would squeak, which stair would creak, and where each member of the household would be at this hour. Celandine cautiously opened the door to the kitchen, feeling the immediate warmth of the big iron cooking range, banked up for the night. All quiet. Good. Before passing through the shadowy kitchen, she took a paring knife from the cutlery drawer, a half-used bar of carbolic soap from the draining board and a gardening trowel that had unaccountably been left on the window sill. Useful things. Celandine put them into her canvas bag.

  In the hallway beyond she stopped for a few moments and listened. The dark staircase rose up steeply in front of her – a threatening obstacle, full of hidden creaks and groans, ready to give her away if she should put a foot wrong. There was a smell of oilskins and muddy boots. Celandine took a hairbrush from the hall dresser, put it in her bag, and gingerly began to climb. One step at a time. Gently … gently …

  At the top of the stairs she let out her breath and listened once again. Thos’s snoring was like the scrape of a barn door being pulled to and fro, rattling through the whole of the upper floor. So loud! Celandine blessed him for it, and crept along the corridor – keeping close to the wall, where the floorboards were less likely to creak.

  Freddie’s room. This would be the test, and she had tried to prepare herself for it. Here she had imagined that she might collapse in hopeless sobs, unable to bear the thought that Freddie would never open this door again. The books and the fishing tackle, the birds’ eggs and the butterflies, the scuffed cricket ball – all his treasures – all would remain in here for evermore, unloved and untouched.

  There turned out to be little time to dwell on such things. Standing in the open doorway and gazing into the moonlit room, Celandine became aware that the house was suddenly very quiet. Thos’s snoring had ceased.

  Had he woken up? Might he now be lighting his candle and pulling on his boots, some instinct telling him that there was an intruder present?

  Hurry, then. She stepped into Freddie’s room and quietly removed several of the books from the shelf. Put them in the bag. Hurry. Hurry. What else? A few items of fishing tackle. Don’t stop to choose. Just put them in the bag. The cricket ball? No. Penknife? Yes. Put it in the bag.

  Outside on the landing all was still quiet. There was a clothes chest next to Freddie’s door, and from here she had intended to take a few articles. But what if Thos suddenly appeared? Or her father? Ignore the thought. She hadn’t braved this journey to simply turn around and run straight back again.

  The lid of the clothes chest was heavy, but it was soundless on its hinges. Difficult to see exactly what was in there. Freddie’s old canvas fishing boots she found easily enough, and after that she just grabbed at whatever items of clothing came to hand. Her bag was filling up.

  Celandine quickly lowered the lid, and then regretted her haste. The thing slipped from her nervous fingers at the last second, and banged shut with a noise like a cannon-shot. No! She hoisted her bag and hurried to the top of the stairs. The whole household must have heard it – they must have done.

  Her hand was slippery with perspiration as she gripped the banister. Wait. Just wait for a second. She listened for the inevitable heavy footsteps, the opening of bedroom doors … There! What was that? A low grumble of sound from the end room …

  It was only Thos, snoring again.

  Celandine crept down the stairs, shaking with relief.

  From the parlour she took a pair of nutcrackers – still lying on a bed of empty shells, in a bowl that might have been there since Christmas – and from the sitting room a big ball of wool and two knitting needles. What else? The schoolroom.

  She found an unopened box of chalks, some pencils, and a couple of exercise books. There was very little space left in the bag now, but she hadn’t quite finished yet. She opened the big cupboard in the corner of the schoolroom, and took out her old workbasket. The hated sampler that she had laboured over for so long was neatly folded on top, some of the sp
idery lettering just readable in the blue-grey light; I Shall Not Want. Celandine tossed the thing aside and delved further into the basket, drawing out the heavy dressmaking scissors that had played such a large part in all her troubles. She had another use for them now.

  A packet of needles, a few skeins of thread, and her task was complete. There was nothing else she could think of that was both useful and easily portable.

  Back through the ground floor of the house she tiptoed, lingering a little when she came once again to the sitting room – grateful for the warmth of the rug on the soles of her damp feet.

  Before leaving the kitchen and making for the scullery, she decided to press her luck just a little further. It didn’t take her long to find what she was looking for – a piece of Cook’s lardy-cake, sitting on a plate in the pantry. Enough to fill the last corner of her bag. Good.

  Once she had silently closed the outer door of the scullery, she felt her shoulders sag with relief. The night air calmed her, and she took a deep breath. She had succeeded. All she had to do now was cross the yard, clamber over the gate into the paddock, and she would be safe.

  At the top of the steps by the balustrade wall, she took a quick look up and down the yard – and her heart gave such a jump that she almost choked. A tiny figure was wandering across the cobbles, clearly visible in the moonlight, wringing his hands as he looked uncertainly around him. Fin? No! This couldn’t be. Her elbow bumped against one of the wall pillars as she momentarily lost her balance. What on earth was he doing here? He must have followed her after all – or somehow found his way. And now he was fooling about in the stableyard, threatening to ruin everything, totally exposed to every danger …

  The dogs! Where were the dogs? Celandine opened her mouth to hiss out a warning, but could make no sound – because now it was too late. She had spotted them. From the darkness of the open-sided barn they came, creeping low among the shadows, silently inching forward as Fin drew level with them. He was whispering to himself, completely oblivious to the peril he was in.