Crooks and Straights

by Masha du Toit

  She considered pretending that she’d not seen Saraswati, but Nico made that impossible. She let him go, and he ran to wrap his arms around his mother.

  “So what time did you get back last night?”

  I could ask you the same question. But Gia she knew that she did not dare. Instead she kept her eyes on her mother’s hands as she stroked Nico’s hair, noticing again the particular way she had of running strands of it through thumb and finger, as though she were smoothing each separate lock.

  “I thought we had an understanding.”

  Maybe if she just kept quiet, Saraswati would give up and they would not have to have another fight.

  Another dreary, boring, fight.

  “Gia, look at me when I’m speaking to you.”

  The touch of irritation in her mother’s voice sparked Gia’s anger.

  “You had an understanding, Mom. Why can’t I go out with my friends? Why do you have to be so—” She clenched her fists in frustration. She hated the sound of her own voice when things got like this. She hated fighting. Her face got hot and words came out, and she did not even know if she meant them.

  “I came home before midnight,” was what she wanted to say, but that was dangerously close to the forbidden topic.

  Midnight. Full moon. Where were you last night, Mom? Where do you go?

  Saraswati hitched the strap of her handbag higher on her shoulder.

  “I don’t have time for this now—”

  “Then why did you start it?” flashed Gia.

  They stood there, staring at one another. Gia could almost see the unspoken words that gathered round them. She waited, flinching, for Saraswati to snatch them and fling them at her like knives. But Saraswati just shook her head, and her voice was soft, and tired.

  “Please don’t talk like that, Gia. As if I am your enemy.”

  A small part of Gia wanted to rush to her mother, bury her face in her hair, as she’d so recently been able to do. She wanted to say— She did not know what she wanted to say, but all she could do was wrap her arms around herself, look away, and keep her expression stony.

  After a pause, Saraswati spoke again.

  “I’m taking Nico to Mrs Winterbach’s. If you could help Mandy?

  Gia nodded and turned back to the gate.

  Great, she thought as she stomped up the stairs.

  Now it’s my fault. I’m the horrible one. Why can’t she just leave me alone? All I did was get back a bit late. It’s not like I was getting drunk or taking drugs, or whatever it is she thinks I’m doing.

  She slammed the front door behind her.

  -oOo-

  Gia sat at the kitchen table, helping Mandy sort through dress patterns that had been mixed up in the move. Each envelope had to be opened and the contents checked, and then marked off on a list. It was boring work but Gia did not complain. Fighting with her mother was one thing, but Mandy was not to be trifled with.

  They had just finished one pile when there was a knock on the front door, followed by somebody trying the doorknob.

  “Special Branch, open up!”

  Mandy’s eyes went wide. She opened her mouth to say something, when the knock came again. “Open up, Mr, uh, Grobbelaar. This is Special Branch!”

  Seeing Mandy frozen, Gia ran for the shaking door. She must have forgotten to lock the burglar gate again.

  Mom’s going to kill me.

  “Okay, just give me a chance!”

  She pulled out her keys, then hesitated. Shouldn’t she call her father up from the studio?

  But how?

  He never answered the phone, and there was no time— The door was shaking again.

  She got the key in the lock and opened the door on the chain.

  “Who— ?”

  “Special Branch Sniffer Unit 332. I’m Constable Brand, and this is Controller Mba.”

  A big man with a tired face held out a piece of paper. There was somebody else, two people, Gia thought, but it was difficult to see.

  “What’s this?” came her father’s voice from the stairs behind them.

  Gia breathed in relief.

  Constable Brand stepped back, and now Gia could see his companions; a black woman in the Special Branch uniform, her broad build emphasised by her bulletproof vest, and a man whose face was hidden under a hood.

  “Routine search,” Constable Brand was saying. “We have a warrant to—”

  “Why are you here?” said Karel. “By what right do you come barging in here?”

  A chill of unease touched Gia’s spine.

  He is afraid.

  Constable Brand held out the paper patiently. “Sir, we have a warrant—”

  But the female officer did not wait for him to finish. With no change to her placid expression, she rammed the door with her shoulder. Gia jumped back as the chain snapped and the door slammed back against the wall.

  “Come,” the policewoman said to the hooded man, and tugged him after her. She had him on some kind of leash.

  Gia glimpsed an impossible face under the hood, and nearly choked at the stench of rancid cat pee that trailed in his wake. Seeing them heading for the kitchen, she ran after them.

  In the kitchen, Mandy stood behind the table. The policewoman faced her impassively.

  “Controller Mba, just a minute,” said Constable Brand. “Stay where you are, Mamma,” he said to Mandy. “And you, miss, go and stand there by her.”

  “This is unacceptable,” said Karel. “Who is your superior— ”

  “Sir, could you stand there by the table.”

  Karel stepped abruptly closer to Constable Brand, and Controller Mba put a hand on her holster.

  “What is going on here?”

  Saraswati stood in the kitchen door. She had spoken softly, but there was a chill in her voice that drew everyone’s attention.

  Constable Brand was the first to react.

  “Just a routine inspection, Madam,” he said. “Looking for traces of illegal magicals and magical activity.”

  Before Saraswati could respond, he turned to the controller.

  “Free his hands,” he said. “But watch he doesn’t mess anything. I’ve had enough trouble with that one.”

  The controller jerked on the leash and the man held up his bound hands.

  Gia was trembling with tension. She forced herself to look at the man’s hands, not knowing what it was she feared to see. He had large, pale hands with a light dusting of ginger hair; the fingers of his left hand were stained yellow with nicotine. The controller released the straps from around his wrists, and led the man out of the kitchen.

  Constable Brand looked at his clipboard.

  “Now. Let’s get this done. Mr Karel Grobbelaar—”

  As the constable asked them their names and identity numbers, they could hear the controller and her companion moving around the house. There were sounds of drawers opening, and furniture moving. Gia, who stood close beside her father, felt him flinch at each new bang and scrape. The constable seemed oblivious to the noise.

  “And that is everyone who lives here?” he asked tiredly. “What about— ” He glanced at his file. “Niccolo Grobbelaar. He is not here?”

  Constable Brand looked questioningly at Saraswati, but she stared back at him and did not reply. “Is there a Niccolo Grobbelaar at this address?”

  Gia wanted to answer, but the look on her mother’s face silenced her.

  The constable’s gaze shifted to Karel. When he did not get a reaction, he sighed.

  “Sir, Madam, you are just making things difficult here. Is there a Niccolo Grobbelaar at this address?”

  Once again, there was no response, and Gia had to bite back the urge to fill the awkward silence.

  There was thud from the living room, a crash of something falling and then a sound that Gia could not at first identify— a delicate pattering sound, like a trickle of rainwater on leaves. It was only when she saw the look on her mother’s face that she realised what it was.

&
nbsp; Beads. All those little bottles of beads, spilling out onto the floor.

  Then the controller and her companion came back into the kitchen. She shook her head at the constable’s enquiring look.

  “Low level, old stuff,” she said. “No traces of recent magical activity so far.”

  “Check through there,” the constable indicated the pantry behind the kitchen. “And then you can come and do this lot.”

  He sighed, dug his fingers into his neck, and rolled his shoulders. Cupboards opened and closed in the pantry. Gia felt her father’s arm go round her, and turned to bury her face in his shoulder, breathing in his comforting smell.

  Would they see her trapdoor?

  She shuddered as she imagined those pale, hairy hands pawing through her clothes.

  And what about the haarskeerder? Surely they would pick up traces—

  “Sir!”

  “Controller?”

  “We’ve found some items, sir.”

  Mandy stirred, attracting the constable’s attention. She tried to speak, then had to stop to clear her throat.

  “Those things,” she managed at last. “Those things in the cupboards, they're not ours. We just moved here. The woman who used to live here, it’s all hers.”

  The controller put a box on the table. It was clear from the dust and cobwebs that the box had not been opened for some time.

  “Back of the cupboard, Sir. Good readings.”

  “Recent?”

  She shrugged. “Hard to tell.” In response to the constable’s raised eyebrows, she continued, reluctantly. “Not recent. Old.”

  “Hmm.” The constable flipped open one flap of the box with his pen and peered inside, then shook his head.

  “Nothing worth noting. This thing has not been opened for years. Well, let’s finish here then. We don’t want any trouble now, so let’s get this over with. One at a time, each of you come and stand here.”

  He pointed at Mandy. "We’ll begin with you, Mamma.”

  Gia felt her father stir, and saw that Saraswati gripped his arm. Mandy made a small noise in her throat, then stepped forward.

  The controller tugged the hooded man toward her. “Hold your arms out to the sides, Mamma,” she said to Mandy.

  Gia watched in fascinated horror as the man slid back his hood.

  He had the face of a fighting dog, broad in the jaw as a pit-bull. His muzzle was criss-crossed with many scars, and he had two large wolf ears, notched and torn. A wide leather strap bound his jaw and passed round the back of his head. The leash, Gia saw, was attached to this muzzle in such a way that the controller’s tugs twisted his head with little chance of resistance.

  Gia could not see Mandy’s face, but she could see the fear in the lift of her shoulders and her trembling hands. She wanted to go to her, but felt her father holding her back.

  The man— the werewolf— bent toward Mandy and sniffed, first at her hands, then at her face, then a quick pass over her body. He snorted and stood back.

  “Next.”

  With a start, Gia saw that the controller was looking at her. Her heart hammered as she stepped forward, aware of a sudden pressure in her bladder. She had to fight down the urge to giggle.

  Please God, let me not wet myself.

  “Hold your arms out.”

  The werewolf moved closer and she stared at it, transfixed. Russet fur curled over his collar, and the muzzle had rubbed raw patches under his eyes. He had something in his mouth, a piece of metal like the bit of a bridle that passed under his tongue. The straps that bound his jaw were stained with saliva.

  Unable to help herself, she looked into his eyes.

  Human eyes.

  He blinked, and his eyes rolled slowly, as though he were drunk or dazed.

  Chemically neutered.

  Then he focused on her, and lowered his head to sniff.

  This close, she could smell his stench. Musky urine, and something like wet dog and old cigarettes. She flinched as his whiskers brushed across her cheek. She could feel his breath on her skin. His nose touched her stomach, and then her hands. She was about to step back when he gripped her wrist and wrenched it upward.

  A word-like growl came from the muzzled jaws, and the werewolf rolled his eyes toward the controller.

  Gia stared at her arm, unable for a moment, to understand what the werewolf had found.

  Then she understood.

  The troll-bouncer’s thumb-print.

  The controller peered at her arm. “What’s this?”

  “Uh,” Gia had to swallow to get her voice back. “It’s just— ink. A stamp from a nightclub I went to.”

  She licked her lips, aware of her parents listening.

  “What nightclub?” said Constable Brand. “And why would their stamp have magical residue?”

  “The Playground.” She wanted to turn to see her mother’s reaction. “They have a— um. A troll for a bouncer. That’s his mark. It's just ink.”

  At a sign from the controller, the werewolf released her arm and she stood back, rubbing at the thumbprint.

  “That place was raided last night,” said Constable Brand. “What were you doing there? That’s not a place for a young girl.”

  “Just dancing. With my friends.”

  “Hmm.”

  With relief, she saw that he was not going to ask any more questions.

  “You next, sir.”

  Karel held out his arms and the werewolf sniffed him over quickly.

  “Nothing there,” said the controller.

  “Next.”

  Saraswati moved forward, and for a moment Gia thought that her father would intervene. But he did nothing.

  Gia could see her mother’s face as she looked up at the werewolf, who was much taller than she was. The creature lowered its head in a grotesque parody of a lover seeking a kiss, but only sniffed at her face. Then the heavy muzzle moved along her arm, down toward her hand where it snorted and jerked back, stung.

  “Hold,” said the controller.

  Saraswati stood without moving as the policewoman reached out and gingerly pulled back her sleeve to reveal the ornate silver bracelet around Saraswati’s wrist.

  “Silver,” said the controller in some disgust. “Nothing there. All clean.”

  -oOo-

  As soon as the police had left, Saraswati walked swiftly to the living room.

  Gia followed and found her mother on her knees, surrounded by beads.

  “It’s not as bad as I thought,” she said, looking up. “They didn’t touch the dress. Just the bead containers got knocked over. Careful! Don’t step on them.”

  This last was to Karel, who’d pushed past Gia.

  “It could be worse,” he said, stepping back reluctantly. “At least they did not go into the studio. Or at least they better not—”

  “They’ve left” said Mandy from the door. “I saw them drive away.”

  “Well.” Karel sighed with obvious relief. “That’s all right then.”

  “We can sort the beads later, Madam,” said Mandy. “Let’s just pick them up for now.”

  Leaving her mother and Mandy sweeping up beads, Gia went to lock the burglar gate at the street entrance. She felt shaky, but somehow excited, and wanted badly to tell somebody what had happened.

  I wonder what Fatima and Ben are up to.

  She found Mandy and Saraswati still hunting for beads under the furniture.

  “Mom, can I go and—”

  “No.” Saraswati did not even look at Gia. She sounded tired, her voice flat. “No going out tonight. And no visits from friends today.”

  Gia opened her mouth to argue, then thought better of it.

  Oh well. I’ll ask again later, when she’s calmed down.

  As she watched, Saraswati picked up something from the floor and looked down at it for a moment— a tear-shaped bead, blood-red in her white palm.

  -oOo-

  Gia spent the rest of the day helping Saraswati.

  The concept dr
awing of Kavitha’s wedding gown had to be redrawn. At the moment it was just an idea sketch. It had to be turned into a design for a real, three-dimensional garment. The work seemed to calm Saraswati, and she recovered some of her vitality. Soon they were sitting amid a pile of reference books and magazines, working out the best way to achieve the look suggested by the sketch. Because of the complexity of the design, Saraswati planned to create a toile: a test gown made out of an inexpensive fabric. This toile would be used to test the dress before creating the final version in silk.

  Saraswati was an expert at modelling draping fabric directly on the dressmaker’s dummy, an art that required skill as well as patience.

  It was a new experience for Gia to work with her mother. She helped her father often. Karel was an excellent teacher, but he could be impatient, and learning from him was often a case of watching what he did and trying to keep up. Gia found her mother’s method very different.

  They were partners, fellow explorers rather than teacher and pupil. Where Karel decided on the design first, and then planned out the pattern to fit it, Saraswati worked directly with the fabric; pinching, lifting and folding it. Searching for the potential garment in the way the fabric draped and fell from her hands. She was as interested in Gia’s ideas as in her own.

  Right now, however, she used some of Karel’s techniques, drawing a tentative mock-up of the design before she started draping the toile.

  As she watched her mother draw, Gia wished that it could always be like this. These days, every interaction seemed to turn into a fight, and every situation a misunderstanding. If only she could stop herself from getting so irritated with Saraswati, or at least from showing her irritation.

  Her thoughts went back to the events of that morning.

  It’s a good thing Nico wasn’t home.

  Her parents clearly did not want Nico involved in the search, or why else would they refuse to tell the police where he was?

  Because he is a— changeling?

  But that was absurd. Whatever that Special Branch captain had said at school, Nico was just Nico. Why would the police be interested in a seven-year-old boy?

  She remembered Mrs Solomons, the social worker who had questioned her. That woman had seemed particularly interested in Nico, too. For a moment Gia hesitated on the brink of telling her mother about the Special Branch talk and the social worker’s questions.