The Family Shame

by Christopher G. Nuttall

  And I helped make sure that Sandy had a very hard time, I thought. I hadn’t been the worst thing to happen to the older girl - that had been Cat’s kidnapping - but I hadn’t made her life any easier. I couldn’t help feeling guilty. She’ll probably have to change her name if she wants to find work somewhere outside the city.

  The older woman stomped over to us. I couldn’t help noticing that, despite her age, she was astonishingly muscular. Morag looked strong, but this woman was stronger still. Her heavyset build - her hands were about the size of frying pans - was very intimidating. I found it hard to meet her eyes.

  “Well?” Her voice was very sharp. “What do you think you can do?”

  “I need a needle,” I said, briskly. “And I need a blood sibling.”

  The elder woman pointed a finger at a young girl. “Sara, attend to Her Ladyship,” she ordered. “Jan, give her one of your needles.”

  Sara looked as if she didn’t want to move, her body jerking as if someone was forcing her to stand up. She was young, probably around seven or eight, with straggly red hair that defied her braids. Her face was pretty enough, but there was a nasty scar on her cheek and she moved as if she expected another blow at any moment. My jaw ached in sympathy. Sara’s mother clearly had a lot in common with Morag.

  “Here, My Lady,” Jan said. She was the same age as me, I thought, but there was something about the way she moved that suggested I was older. “It’s my finest needle.”

  I took the needle and inspected it, thoughtfully. It was very plain indeed, compared to the needles Mother had taught me to use. I’d never really had the patience for sewing - and it wasn’t as if I’d ever had to make my own dresses - but I knew the basics. It would do, I hoped. No one had charmed it to sew without human supervision.

  “Stand there,” I ordered Sara. I held the needle above her head, feeling for the sympathetic resonance. It was a lot easier to cast this spell on myself than someone else, but I wasn’t related to either of the missing bullies. “I’ll be casting the spell in a moment.”

  “Will it hurt?” Sara sounded as if she wasn’t sure she wanted to go through with it. “I … will it find them?”

  “It should work,” I said. Sara shared her brother’s blood. Assuming they were together, the needle should point right to them. “And it won’t hurt at all.”

  I glanced at Callam, who gave me the thumbs up, then cast the spell. The needle jerked out of my hand and started to spin above Sara’s head, whirling around like a mad thing. My eyes narrowed as the needle sped up, rather than slowing down. The bullies were alive - the spell wouldn’t have worked if they were dead - but there was no way to take a bearing. It was almost as if something was interfering with the spell.

  Sara giggled. “That feels nice,” she said. “What are you doing?”

  “You and your brother share the same blood,” I said. “How many other siblings do you have?”

  “None,” Sara said. “There’s just me and him.”

  Poor girl, I thought. Akin had never tried to boss me around - I’d certainly tried to boss him around, although he had an annoying habit of nodding in agreement and then doing his own thing anyway - but I’d known girls who’d had domineering older siblings. It didn’t seem to matter if they were brothers or sisters. They bossed their younger sisters around mercilessly, as if age gave them authority. Hart - or Hound - would be very bossy indeed.

  The needle kept spinning. “It isn’t focusing on a single point,” I said. “I don’t know where they are.”

  Callam cleared his throat. “But … we could just triangulate a line …”

  I pointed to the needle. “We can’t get a line,” I said. I’d intended to fix the charm in place so the needle would always point to Sara’s brother, then give it to the search party. They’d have no trouble following the needle to the missing boys … if, of course, the needle was actually pointing at the wretched brats. “The magic isn’t working.”

  “So it’s useless.” The older woman sounded pleased. I wondered, sourly, just what sort of disputes she’d had with Granny McVeigh. “You can’t find them.”

  “I know they’re alive,” I said, putting tight controls on my anger. Snapping at her wouldn’t help. “There is a resonance between Sara and her brother. But I can’t get the needle to focus on them.”

  The old woman snorted. “Thank you for your help, Your Ladyship,” she said. “Callam, remain here until the final search party is assembled. You can join it.”

  Callam nodded, tightly.

  I looked down at the needle, still spinning over Sara’s head. There was a resonance. There had to be a resonance. And yet … the needle wasn’t slowing down at all.

  Callam nudged me. “What does that mean?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. I knew I sounded frustrated. I just didn’t care. “They’d have to be behind powerful wards for the needle not to be able to give us a rough location. “

  I plucked the needle out of the air and cancelled the spell, then passed it back to Jan. It was hard to keep my face from reddening. I was probably the most powerful spellcaster in the town - Uncle Ira and Morag were a long way away - and I’d just embarrassed myself in front of everyone. And yet … it hadn’t been my fault. The spell had worked. It just hadn’t been able to provide a location.

  “They could have gone into one of the old mines,” Sara said. “They’re stupid that way.”

  “Sara,” her mother snapped.

  Callam lowered his voice. “They have been acting weird since the day … since you turned them into frogs,” he said. “Everyone knows what happened, even if few people dare mock them. A little girl beats them both at magic.”

  My face heated. “I’m not little!”

  “Hart is sixteen,” Callam said. “And you turned him into a frog.”

  I shrugged. There were few teenagers in Shallot who wouldn’t know how to counter that spell. I dreaded to think what would happen if I’d tried that spell on an upperclassman. I’d have been lucky if I was only given lines to write until my wrist fell off. He’d have been more likely to laugh at me, then give me detention for the rest of the year. Even Sandy wouldn’t have had any trouble teaching me a lesson, if she’d really lost her temper. An older student would have fewer qualms about punishing me.

  “Maybe they just ran off to join the army,” Callam commented. “A talent for mindless violence and a willingness to hurt people … I’d say they were qualified.”

  “Maybe,” I said. The family armsmen probably wouldn’t accept someone like Hart or Hound, but the king’s army might have different ideas. “Or maybe they just ran off to sea.”

  It was an amusing thought. If I’d really taught them a lesson, if I really had turned them into laughingstocks, they’d never be able to get away from it, not as long as they stayed in the region. Kirkhaven wasn’t the only town - there were plenty of smaller towns and villages within walking distance - but there wasn’t anything that spread faster than rumour. The tale had probably reached Caithness by now. Hart and Hound would have to go a long way away to escape the stories. Perhaps they really had gone to sea.

  I sobered as I realised, bitterly, that they weren’t that different from me. Maybe - just maybe - I’d be welcomed back home. But no one would forget what I’d done. No one would ever let me forget it either. Perhaps I should run away to sea. The great clipper ships that travelled between Shallot and Hangchow were notorious for not asking too many questions about prospective crew. No one would take much notice of me as long as I used a false name and worked hard.

  “But if they went to sea,” Callam said, “why can’t your tracking spell find them?”

  “Good point,” I said. Hart and Hound might have decided to put as much distance as they could between themselves and Kirkhaven before their absence was noted, but the spell should have still given us a bearing. “I don’t know.”

  “Magic sometimes behaves oddly, up here,” Callam said. “Perhaps your spell is simply having problems
coping with them.”

  I opened my mouth to respond, then closed it again as someone shouted Callam’s name. The final search party was assembling by the schoolhouse, mostly composed of older men with a couple of teenagers. I silently wished them luck. If Hart and Hound had had an accident, rather than simply running away to join the army or go to sea, they’d have to be found before they bled to death. But I still didn’t understand why my spell had failed.

  Maybe they purchased a concealment charm from a passing peddler, I thought. But the blood-link should still have worked.

  “I need to go.” Callam looked concerned. “Will you be alright walking back to the hall?”

  “Yeah,” I said. I wanted him to come with me, but I wouldn’t be doing him any favours if he insisted. The locals would say he’d shirked his duties. “Good luck.”

  Callam looked, just for a second, as if he was wishing for bad luck. I didn’t really blame him. Hart and Hound had been thoroughly unpleasant to him and everyone else. Callam wouldn’t really want to find them. I suspected that most of the villagers felt the same way. But their parents would want to know what had happened to them, if nothing else. I told myself that I should feel sorry for the families, if not for the missing bullies. They needed to know what had happened to their children.

  I waved him goodbye, then turned and walked back up the track towards the hall. I kept a wary eye out for trouble as I headed further up the path, half-expecting Morag to jump out of the bushes as I neared the hall. The river felt colder than ever before as I splashed through the water, silently kicking myself for not bringing my wellies. I made a mental note to hide a pair of them under a bush or add them to the emergency kit. I really didn’t want to have to waste time changing my trousers when I was trying to put as much distance as possible between myself and the hall.

  And I need to find a way to obscure the blood-link, I thought. I wanted - I needed - to know how Hart and Hound had done it. There was no way they’d done it on their own. A fifth-year magic student would have problems hiding from a resonance spell. Did they find a forbidden book? Or did someone give them a Device of Power to mask their blood?

  I mulled it over as I collected the doll, placed it back into my bag and walked back to Kirkhaven Hall. Whatever they’d done to mask their blood might work quite so well against a blood relative. Sara might have been able to find them, if she’d cast the spell … I considered, briefly, trying to teach her. And whatever they’d done might not be enough to stop Uncle Ira tracking me down. I needed something a bit more powerful if I wanted to hide from him.

  I’ll have to go back to those books, I thought, as I entered the hall and made my way up to my room. I’d have to shrink the doll and carry it at all times. Uncle Ira might notice that I wasn’t carrying the tracking spell any longer if I left it in my room. If I can find a way to obscure my blood, just for a few days, I should be able to get to Caithness.

  I returned to the kitchens, where Morag was cooking something that smelled heavenly. She looked up at me and scowled, as if I’d done something to offend her. I wondered, vaguely, what it was that I was supposed to have done. I hadn’t seen her all day. She could have left a note if she’d wanted me for something.

  “Ah,” Morag said. “You can chop these potatoes for me, if you can find time in your busy schedule.”

  “Yes, Senior,” I said, trying to conceal my annoyance. I was tired. I’d had a long day. “Are these for dinner?”

  “No, I thought I’d cook the potatoes before planting them to save time,” Morag said, sarcastically. The look on her face dared me to laugh. “And then you can wash the cutlery before using it, just to keep us from having to wash it after dinner.”

  I swallowed a number of remarks that would probably have earned me another slap. “Yes, Senior.”

  “And be down here tomorrow morning at nine,” Morag added, as she shoved a bag of potatoes at me. They looked as if they’d only just been pulled out of the earth. “You and I have a lot of work to do.”

  I groaned. I had research to do. And I needed to put together a bag of supplies. And …

  “The master has given his permission,” Morag said. She gave me a bright smile that somehow lacked any warmth. “And besides, you might enjoy it. You might even find it educational.”

  Chapter Thirty

  The next three days were a nightmare.

  I’d hoped to get out of the hall, long enough to meet Callam, but Morag and Uncle Ira kept me busy all day. When I wasn’t helping Morag get more rooms ready for guests, I was brewing a number of different potions for Uncle Ira and answering his increasingly pointed questions about what had happened when he’d forced me to drink his potion. I had to struggle to keep the story straight, without mentioning Callam. I had no idea what my uncle would do if he knew the truth, but I didn’t want to find out the hard way.

  I awoke on the fourth day, convinced that I had forgotten something.

  It nagged at my mind as I climbed out of bed and splashed water on my face. I had forgotten something, but what? Had someone used a memory charm to make me forget? I felt a flicker of fear as I undressed and inspected every last inch of my body, looking for signs that someone had taken a blood sample in the night. It was technically illegal to use memory charms on children, but Uncle Ira had already crossed the line time and time again. If he’d taken a sample, if I’d woken up and he’d made me forget …

  I returned to the bed, sat down and tried to meditate. Father had taught me a few tricks for outwitting and eventually breaking memory charms, but he’d warned me that they weren’t always reliable. Memory charms didn’t just take a gap out of someone’s memory, if I recalled correctly; they encouraged the victim’s mind to craft its own memories to fill the gap. If I’d been half-asleep, my brain numbed by fatigue, it would be hard to spot the false memory. The thought pained me as I closed my eyes and concentrated, thinking back to the point where I’d gone to bed. It wasn’t easy to tell if something had happened during the night.

  Perhaps it didn’t, I thought, as I pulled on my shirt and trousers. Uncle Ira hadn’t given me any tasks yesterday, which might or might not be a good thing. I had work to do, but Morag might also have work for me to do. I could just be imagining it.

  I walked down the stairs, expecting to run into Morag at any moment. But the kitchen was dark and cold, without even a fire in the grate. I muttered a heating charm, then found myself some eggs and cooked them hastily. Morag was a good teacher, I supposed, when she wasn’t snapping and snarling at me. She’d taught me quite a few tricks I hadn’t learnt in potions class.

  And the eggs don’t taste like they’re rotten either, I thought, as I finished eating and put the plates in the sink to wash. It’s a vast improvement.

  I sighed as I slowly walked back to my room. There were times when I thought I could almost enjoy living at the hall … and times when I just couldn’t wait to get away. Uncle Ira was both a good teacher and a looming menace … on one hand, he’d taught me all sorts of spells and potions I normally wouldn’t have been allowed to touch, but - on the other hand - he’d fed me a potion that had almost killed me. I wished I knew what he was doing. It might have made everything far more palatable.

  Or it might turn out to be something truly bad, I told myself. There was no point in deluding myself. You already know he’s been experimenting with the Dark Arts.

  I took a breath as I stepped into the room and closed the door behind me, then picked up the rucksack I’d found on the fourth floor. It was a rough, crude design, lacking the charms to make it feather-light no matter what I put inside, but it had one great advantage. It didn’t look like something that would belong to me, certainly not in Shallot. I’d be ruthlessly mocked if I carried it on the streets. Morag would not think of me if she stumbled across the bag.

  Unless she sees the contents, I thought. That might be all too revealing.

  I opened the bag and carefully packed two whole changes of clothes; shirts, trousers and under
wear. Morag knew I was wearing trousers these days, but … hopefully she’d think they belonged to someone who had left the hall long ago. I added one of the maps I’d found in the library, followed by a couple of potions vials and a spellcaster. Getting to Caithness was not going to be easy, but I thought I could do it. If worse came to worst, I could use magic to steal a horse or compel a rider to take me to the city.

  Leaving the bag on the bed, I walked to my trunk and opened it, digging through the clothes until I found the case hidden underneath. The locking charm fell open at my touch, allowing me to reach inside and take out the necklace. It was inordinately bright, glittering under the sunlight … I wondered, suddenly, just what I’d been thinking when I’d bought it. Golden chains, a dozen rubies, a design that was really too elaborate for my tastes … my current tastes. I’d wasted a great deal of money on buying it. I was surprised Mother and Father hadn’t made me take it back to the shop.

  It’s also the only thing I have of any value, I thought. Callam had told me that coins were rare in the district. The farmers used a bartering system when it came to trading with the towns. Uncle Ira isn’t going to give me any pocket money. Where would I spend it?

  I scowled at the thought. I had no way to reach my family accounts, even if I still had access to them. And even if I did have access, the money might be useless. What would the townspeople do with a handful of coins? They might take them to Caithness, I supposed, but … they wouldn’t be worth much in the short term. I had a feeling that selling the necklace was the only way I’d be able to get money, if I could find a buyer. There probably wasn’t anyone closer than Caithness who could afford it.

  I took one last look at the necklace, then closed the case, restored the locking charm and buried it in the rucksack. It would be safe enough, unless someone moved the clothes and uncovered the box. I added a pair of nasty hexes to discourage anyone from trying, then carefully picked up the bag. It felt heavier than I’d expected for a bag carrying nothing more than clothes and a handful of tools. I added a charm to make it lighter, then placed it in the corner of the room. I’d have to hide it outside the house before the end of the day. The last thing I wanted was Morag deciding to search my room again.