The Family Shame

by Christopher G. Nuttall

  “That’s the schoolhouse,” Callam added. I followed his gaze. The schoolhouse was a long low building, very clearly an afterthought as far as the townspeople were concerned. It didn’t look very inspiring, not like Jude’s. “No one wants to go there.”

  I looked at him, surprised. “No one?”

  Callam reddened. “The law says that everyone must have a basic education,” he said, rather crossly. “But here … they don’t want their sons to take time off from work to go to school and learn. They think it spoils them for actual work.”

  “I’ve never heard that before,” I said. I thought about what my father would say, if someone told him that, and shivered. How could a potioneer or a forger or anyone get by without an education? “Why?”

  Callam laughed, as one does at a joke that isn’t particularly funny. “Isabella, the majority of the boys who live here will inherit a farm and work it until they die and pass it down to their sons. The girls will marry into different farms, probably moving to the next town and making their homes there. They don’t need education, not as far as their parents are concerned. They need to work the land.”

  “Oh,” I said, stunned.

  “My dad often gets accused of teaching his students to have airs above their station,” Callam added, after a moment. “A young boy learns to read and suddenly he has ideas that conflict with his parents; a young girl learns to read and starts dreaming of a life in Caithness or Tintagel or Shallot. And then they start rebelling against their families and plotting to escape to the big cities.”

  I frowned. “Is that a bad thing?”

  “It is for them,” Callam said. He shrugged. “Although it does have some advantages, I suppose. Dad ensured that the farmers could actually read the contracts they were being offered by outsiders, then do the math to realise that they were going to be cheated. It probably saved them from getting into real trouble.”

  “But they weren’t pleased enough to let him work in peace,” I guessed.

  Callam shook his head. “They don’t really want their children to have a pointless education,” he said. “Reading books is a waste of time, as far as they are concerned. History? History is utterly useless. What good does reciting a list of kings and queens and famous magicians do the folk who live here? They don’t care who sits on the throne. What does it matter to them?”

  I hesitated. Father had taught me, again and again, that knowledge was power. Knowing something someone else didn’t know might make the difference between life and death. The thought of rejecting knowledge was practically blasphemy. My parents would have been utterly horrified if I’d refused to study magic, or history, or the social graces. I’d probably have been chained to a desk until I finished reading the books and proved my comprehension of the material. Knowledge was power.

  But I could see their point too. What good was knowledge if you never had the chance to use it? What good was studying magic or history or anything if it was just abstract knowledge? I knew a handful of low-power magicians who’d made careers out of theoretical magic, but how many of the children here would get the training they needed to make a success out of it? I didn’t think any of them would have a chance to succeed.

  Callam was still speaking. “I don’t fit in here, you see. No friends, because my father’s the teacher; no hope of making a life here, because I don’t know how to farm … I don’t even think we’ll be staying here long enough for me to take up an apprenticeship …”

  I looked up. “You’re leaving?”

  “Not yet,” Callam said. “But we never stay in any one place for too long.”

  I winced. Callam was my friend, my only friend. I didn’t want him to go. But what could I do? I didn’t have the influence I’d need to keep them in town, even if they wanted to stay. I couldn’t imagine moving from town to town, working for a year or two before moving to the next town. I’d always assumed that I’d spend most of my life in Shallot. Now …

  I might have to keep moving, just to stay ahead of the news, I thought. I’d heard of people who ran to escape scandal, always keeping one eye open for the moment when their new friends heard what they’d done. Will I have to change my name again and again as I move from place to place?

  “I’ll miss you,” I said, softly. I tried to think of a way to keep Callam nearby, but nothing came to mind. Uncle Ira might be able to convince Callam’s father to stay, yet … he’d ask too many questions. “Let me know when you go, okay?”

  “It won’t be for a while yet,” Callam said. He sounded resentful. I hoped that meant he’d miss me too. “Dad normally moves in winter. We have the snowy months to find somewhere near, before the snow melts and the schoolchildren go back to school.”

  He led me over the bridge and up to a small grey house. “I thought you’d like to see this,” he said, as he opened the door. A delicious smell wafted out. My stomach rumbled, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten much for lunch. “Welcome to my home.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Callam removed his boots as he walked into the house, placing them under a shelf to dry. I followed suit, then looked around. The house was small, smaller than the abandoned gatekeeper’s cottage on the estate, but it was very neat. I could hear someone singing, the tune echoing through an open door. The smell of cooking grew stronger as Callam led me into the next room. A middle-aged woman was bent over the stove, her back to us. I realised, in shock, that she was Callam’s mother.

  She turned and bowed her head to me, her eyes looking me up and down appraisingly. I hastily dropped a curtsey, as best as I could in trousers, and studied her back as best as I could. She was taller than I’d realised, with dark hair, a plump face and a strikingly pretty smile. There was something about her that was very like Callam, I thought, although I couldn’t place it. She hadn’t given him her looks, for better or worse, but she’d given him some of her expressions.

  “Lady Isabella,” she said. Her voice was a warm contralto, flavoured with an accent that reminded me of Rose. “Welcome to our humble abode.”

  “I thank you,” I said, trying to remember my manners. I was socially superior to her, even though I was in exile, but it was her home. “I … just call me Isabella, please.”

  “I’m Catha,” she said. “I hope you’re hungry.”

  My stomach growled. “Very,” I said. “It’s been a long time.”

  Catha smiled. It was a beautiful smile, I thought as she turned back to the stove. I couldn’t help remembering what my father had said about never trusting a skinny cook, although Morag was both a good cook and quite slim. A crashing sound from the next room announced the arrival of two little girls, both somewhere around seven years old. They skidded to a halt as they saw me, then performed a surprisingly neat pair of curtseys. The devilish glint in their eyes suggested that Callam would pay in embarrassment for bringing me home. I’d met girls back in Shallot who’d done the same to their older siblings.

  “Isabella, please allow me to introduce Daisy and Poppy,” Callam said. “My twin sisters.”

  “I’m older,” Daisy - or perhaps Poppy - said.

  “Only by fifteen minutes,” the other girl insisted. “You’re not old enough to be an old fuddy-duddy yet.”

  I looked from one to the other, trying to hide my amusement. The little girls were practically identical twins, right down to their pigtails, shirts, trousers and the stuffed animals under their arms. Akin and I were twins, but we didn’t look alike; Daisy and Poppy were so close to each other that I couldn’t help wondering if their parents ever mixed them up. Callam was probably not going to have a good time as they grew older. It was clear that his younger siblings were the apples of their parents’ eyes.

  “Pleased to meet you,” I said, as Callam motioned me into the next room. It was a small dining room, with a large wooden table at the centre. “I hope we will be friends.”

  Daisy - or Poppy - smirked at me. “Are you going to marry my brother?”

  Callam choked. I felt my face red
den. Callam and I were far too young to marry … and, even if we had been old enough, there would have been all sorts of problems. He was nowhere near my equal, socially speaking; now, after everything that had happened, there was a chance that I wasn’t his equal.

  “Girls,” Catha said, sharply. She carried the pot into the dining room and placed it on the table. “What have I told you about embarrassing your brother?”

  “Do it as often as possible,” Daisy said.

  “And with style,” Poppy added.

  Callam opened his mouth, then closed it again as the main door opened. I looked up, just in time to see a tall brown-haired man stride into the room. He had a no-nonsense attitude that reminded me of a couple of my tutors, men I’d never dared to challenge openly. His robes and mortarboard marked him as a schoolmaster. I wondered, as I hastily curtsied to him, why his students gave his son trouble. His attitude suggested he was too formidable to be scared by over-muscled louts.

  “Lady Isabella,” he said. His voice was strong and firm. “I am Master Tobias. You are welcome.”

  “I thank you,” I said, as I sat down next to Callam. “Thank you for inviting me.”

  “You never answered my question,” Daisy said. “Are you …”

  “Daisy,” Catha said. “Behave yourself.”

  She smiled at me, rather wanly. “I’ve cooked sausage casserole,” she added, as she started to ladle food into a bowl. “You eat it with a spoon.”

  “Spoons are tasty,” Poppy said. She picked hers off the table and put it in her mouth, pretending to chew. “Yummy.”

  Catha put the bowl in front of me. It smelled heavenly, but I forced myself to wait for everyone else to be served before I picked up my spoon and began to eat. Daisy and Poppy ate with surprising delicacy for their age, but they kept glancing at me in a manner that made me want to check my chair for hidden traps. I’d never dared hex a guest’s chair at home - Mother would probably have hexed me into next week - and I didn’t think they could cast anything really dangerous … I hoped I was right about that. I’d heard horror stories involving toddlers with magic.

  “It’s very good, Madame Tobias,” I said to Catha. “I’ve never had anything like it.”

  “It’s a fusion of two different recipes,” Catha told me. “I took half of it from a traditional Caithness stew and the other half from a dish I had in Galashiels.”

  I looked up, interested. “You’ve been to Galashiels?”

  “It isn’t that different,” Master Tobias said. “The folk on the border don’t care much about borders, Lady Isabella. There are people who are supposed, technically, to pay taxes to both kingdoms.”

  I lifted my eyebrows. “How did that happen?”

  Master Tobias grinned. It was suddenly easy to see just how he was related to his son. “The short version of the story is that there are long-standing disputes over precisely where the border happens to run,” he said. “Tintagel believes the border runs along the Sunflower River, while Galashiels insists that the border really runs along the Andros Mountains. That leaves a disputed zone between the two kingdoms that is taxed by both sides.”

  “Ouch,” I said. “Why don’t they just agree on a border?”

  “Both sides believe they’d be giving up ten to twenty miles of territory, depending on what border we use,” Master Tobias said. “And so, the status quo suits them better.”

  “Not that they get much tax,” Callam said.

  “I’m afraid not,” Master Tobias agreed. “The locals are quite good at avoiding the tax collectors.”

  “Boring,” Daisy announced. She dropped her spoon into her empty bowl. “Can you teach us magic?”

  It took me a moment to realise she was looking at me. “I think you’d do better with a proper tutor,” I said, as diplomatically as I could. Callam was trying to shake his head at me without actually moving a muscle. I didn’t blame him. Daisy and Poppy were already alarming without magic. “And you’re really too young to go to magic school.”

  “But we could learn earlier,” Daisy said. “I could be a great student …”

  “We’ll discuss it later,” Master Tobias said, in a tone that refused to brook disobedience. “You do not need to pester our guest with demands for training she can’t give you.”

  “But she’s teaching big brother,” Daisy said.

  “And anything big brother can do we can do better,” Poppy added. “I …”

  “That will do,” their mother said. She looked at me. “I’m sorry for their presumption …”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said. I’d been a little brat when I’d been a child too. “What do you do? I mean, when you’re not cooking good food?”

  “A little healing, a little education that won’t come from other places,” Catha said. “And chasing these two around half the time.”

  “They wear everyone out,” Callam agreed.

  I looked at Master Tobias, who nodded and started to talk about the life of a small-town schoolmaster. He wasn’t anything like as learned as the tutors at Jude’s, but he had an amazing breadth of knowledge. I couldn’t help feeling impressed. He might not know the history of the world down to the smallest detail, but he knew the basics and he knew where he could find out more. Callam might be cynical about the value of educating the townspeople - or at least their children - yet it was clear that his father didn’t share that attitude. He was a firm believer in the value of education.

  “Some of my students do go elsewhere,” he told me. “They find places to further their studies in Caithness, even Shallot. But others stay here.”

  “And do nothing with the skills you taught them,” Callam muttered.

  “That is true,” his father acknowledged. “You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make the beast drink.”

  Catha started to clean up the bowls. I wondered, absently, if I should be helping her. It wouldn’t have been a problem back home, where servants did all the work, but here? I wasn’t sure and I didn’t dare ask. There were people who would expect their guests to help and people who would be mortally offended by the suggestion their guests should put themselves out in any way. I sat still, hoping for a clue. But Callam did nothing.

  His father nodded to me as he stood, replaced his mortarboard on his head, then hurried out of the door. Callam grinned at me as Daisy and Poppy waved goodbye and ran out of the room, then motioned for me to follow him. I wasn’t sure what I’d expected, as he gave me a brief tour of the house, but it was hardly a hovel. Catha clearly kept it in good shape. The hall was in far worse condition.

  The hall needs a small army of servants to repair it, I thought, wryly. I don’t think a single person, however motivated, could make any impression.

  “This is my room,” Callam said, leading me up a flight of stairs. I could hear giggling from the nearby door and guessed that Daisy and Poppy were close. “What do you think?”

  I peered inside and smiled. Callam had very little room to himself - my chamber in the hall was nearly six times bigger - but it was clearly loved. A bed, barely large enough for a grown man; a desk, a sketchbook … I liked it, even though I’d have turned my nose up at such accommodation a few weeks ago. Catha shouted something about leaving the door open from downstairs, which made Callam blush and the twins giggle even louder. It was almost a relief when I heard a pearl of thunder in the distance.

  “What time is it?” I hurried to the window and looked out. Dark clouds were sweeping over the nearby mountains, rushing towards us. “I think I’d better hurry back.”

  Callam looked relieved too. “Yeah,” he said. “I’ll come with you.”

  The sound of distant thunder grew louder as we hurried down the stairs, bid Catha a hasty farewell and practically ran for the hills. Kirkhaven was emptying rapidly, the townspeople heading to their houses or the single pub at one end of the road. They barely spared a glance for me, this time. I hoped that meant they wouldn’t mention me to Morag when - if - she came shopping. Kirkhaven m
ight be the closest town, but it wasn’t the only one … was it?

  Caithness isn’t that far away, I thought, although I knew it might be an illusion. Morag couldn’t travel that far without a horse and cart, could she? Maybe she could hire one in Kirkhaven. There have to be horses nearby.

  “There’s an inn on the main road that serves as the local post station,” Callam told me, when I asked. “You could hire a horse there, if you wished.”

  I nodded as we scrambled up the path beside the embankment. It was growing darker as the clouds moved overhead, casting the river into shadow, but I could hear someone splashing and cursing as they made their way onto the bank. Callam and I exchanged looks, then moved closer. Hart was crawling up the side, moving like a frog even though he’d returned to human form. I could hear his friend splashing through the water behind him.

  “The spell didn’t last very long,” Callam muttered.

  I stared down into the gloom. Hart was looking back at me, his face terrified. I felt a flash of cold satisfaction, followed by anger. Did he think that merely turning him into a frog was enough? I could do worse. I could do a lot worse. I could blind him, showing him how the blinding spell was actually meant to work; I could cripple him, I could freeze him, I could force him to recite doggerel or humiliate himself in public or …

  A year ago, I would have done it without a qualm. Hart and Hound had attacked us. They deserved everything they got. If Callam hadn’t been beside me … I sighed as we turned away, leaving the two boys to scramble out of the river. I’d shocked Callam enough for one day. I wanted him to think well of me, as long as we were friends. He wouldn’t want to watch as I tortured his tormentors, no matter how much they deserved it.

  “Thank you for bringing me,” I said, as we hurried further up the path. The air was blowing colder, water splashing as the river grew deeper. I hoped we’d be able to wade under the arch without problems. I knew how to swim, but I’d never swum in a fast-flowing river. “You have a lovely family.”