The Boy in the Dark

by June Wilson

  Joe sighed. “You’ve only been here two minutes lad. Martha’s a friend, and Lord knows I owe her a favour, but rules are rules. I’m sorry.”

  Toby shot Josh an agonized look. He knew he’d completely blown it. He was just wondering what on earth they were going to do now when help came from an unexpected quarter.

  “Come on Joe - that Seth Miller’s a right bully and you know it. He was going to thump Will good and proper, when he knew full well he’d busted the gate. He weren’t looking where he was going.”

  It was one of the jeering boys. He was about Toby’s age, with the same dark hair as the store man. For a moment Joe looked as if he was going to argue, then shrugged.

  “You’ve a mouth on you, Will Watson, and it’ll land you in trouble one of these days. More trouble, I should say. As for you,” he said, turning to Toby, “don’t let it happen again. And I want all those bales unloaded by midday. Understand?”

  “Yes sir – I mean Joe,” Toby corrected, feeling relieved as the store man walked off again, apparently satisfied. He turned to the boy who’d intervened.

  “Thanks for that. I owe you one.”

  “Seth had it coming. Some of the drivers are okay and some aren’t.” He gave Toby an appraising look. “Wouldn’t mind you teaching me how to kick like that though.”

  Toby had used one of the moves Iris had taught him, what felt like an age ago in Skellstor. He wasn’t sure he should be passing on Hilderinc training, even if he did owe the boy a favour.

  “Um, I thought Joe said no fighting?”

  “Don’t mind what Joe says,” Will said, elbowing his way between the two of them. “This is Dan – Joe’s brother. He always knows how to get round him. And Joe don’t make the rules after work, does he?”

  Dan Laidlow grinned and it seemed there was no arguing with Will’s logic.

  Toby shot a look at Josh, who shrugged an okay. It was one way of making friends. And friends might be able to provide useful information.

  “Alright,” he said. “You’re on.”

  *

  Martha had told Alice she was to work in the spinning hall, where Martha herself worked. The hall was vast, much bigger than a football field and full of enormous machines. Women were working at impressive speed, their hands dangerously close to the machinery. And there were children too, scampering from one machine to the other, their arms full of bobbins or baskets of wool that looked too heavy for them to carry. Others, she saw, were crouching under the machines brushing the flying wheels with oil or removing bits of thread and fluff. It looked horribly dangerous.

  “You’ll get used to it,” Martha said. “I try and keep them out of harm’s way, as much as I can. But accidents do happen, nasty ones at that.”

  Alice swallowed. She realized she hadn’t been prepared for work like this. Given the speed at which everything was happening, and the noise, she couldn’t imagine what use she could be. People would know she was an imposter before she’d even started.

  “I’ll start you off easy.” Martha said. “Just watch me for a while, then I’ll get you get you to doff some bobbins, or else do a bit of winding. You’ll soon get the hang of it.”

  Alice gave her a weak smile. She very much doubted it, but she had to try. The next few hours passed in a whirl of noise and confusion and by the time the whistle blew signaling a break, she’d just about learnt how to change a bobbin. She’d been slow and her fingers were full of splinters, but she could only hope she’d improve with practice. As she followed Martha and the other women into an airless room, she was surprised to see it was well past noon. Obviously time went quickly when you were making a complete mess of things.

  She sat down gratefully and looked round. The women were in various huddles, some caring for the children that had trooped in with them, feeding them bread and cold potatoes. Their talk was subdued and a few sly glances were thrown in her direction, but no one came close. She didn’t know whether to be disappointed or thankful. She wasn’t sure she had the energy for conversation.

  “They’re a good lot, by and by,” Martha said, unwrapping an apple pie from a clean handkerchief. “Most of them have worked here for years and they’ll talk freely once they’ve got used to you. See her?” She pointed to a girl who looked around Alice’s age, with lank hair tied back from a pinched face. “That’s Molly Watson. There’s nothing goes on round here that Molly doesn’t know about.” Molly threw a sullen look in their direction as Martha went on. “And then there’s Annie Hardcastle,” She nodded at an old woman with a stooped back and a heavily lined face. “She’s worked here since she was a girl. She’s on the deaf side, but loves a gossip. She’s fond of my pastries an’ all.”

  Molly and Annie - two potential sources of information, from what the Guardian was saying. But it could take days - weeks even - to get them to trust her. She’d have to prove herself first. Show them she was no different to them – a hard worker, who needed the pittance they were no doubt paid. As Martha left her side to talk to the overseer, she slumped against the wall and closed her eyes. She’d never felt so tired in her life.

  “Don’t worry – it’s always hard when you’re new. Fit to drop, en’t you?”

  Alice jerked awake and saw that Molly Watson had taken a seat next to her. The girl retrieved a brown paper bag from her apron pocket and shook it at her.

  “Roast chestnuts. Want one?”

  “Thanks.” Alice had never had a roast chestnut before and even though she’d eaten half of Martha’s pie, she was starving. She bit into it carefully and was surprised at the delicious taste.

  “They’re cheap,” Molly said with a sly smile. “Specially when you steal ‘em. You friend of Martha’s then, are you?”

  “Relative,” Alice said, sticking to the story. “A cousin – well, half cousin actually. We’ve come from down south.”

  “Oh, right.” Molly chewed thoughtfully. “Thought so. You look different – and you’re not used to working with your hands, that’s for sure. What you normally do then?”

  So, Molly was sharp, just as Martha had said.

  “Um, I’m a kind of governess.” It was the only thing she could think of that sounded old-fashioned enough.

  “Ooh! La-di-dah!” Molly roared with laughter. “Slumming it then, en’t you?”

  Alice blushed. “Well, I’m only an assistant really, nothing special,” she said, but Molly dug her in the ribs.

  “I’m only kidding. I’ve never met a governess before. You might be able to learn me a thing or two, you might.”

  Alice smiled and took another chestnut. She doubted there would be anything useful she could teach Molly Watson. But at least she was friendlier than she looked. And that had to be a good start.

  MIDDENGARD

  Chapter 9

  It was late afternoon and a red sun hung low in the sky. Ellie had helped Soren search the woods for three hours and more, all to no avail. And although the twins had found faint tracks to the west of the village - around six or seven small footprints in the mud - the trail had gone cold at the river.

  With only bad news to report, Soren had summoned the villagers to the meet house. The hall was crowded and the mood a mixture of anger and despair. When the Yeoman put up his hand for silence, the villagers obeyed, their expressions hopeful.

  “Friends – there is little more we can do before nightfall. I have sent messages to Oxenhope and Tor’s Cross, to warn them that the Lady comes. At least they may be able to keep their children safe.” Soren looked round the hall, his face full of sorrow. “If we had had such warning, our sons might still be here.”

  There was a general muttering of agreement. The Yeoman had done the right thing. But where was help for them?

  A man slammed his fist on the table. “We’ve never had trouble in these parts before. It’s strangers that bring it with them.”

  Ellie saw that it was Peter who had spoken, the man who had threatened Orla in the woods. He was staring at her with dislike.

>   “Such as the strangers that buy your wool at market Peter? Or those that supply the ale you’re so fond of?” Soren said, producing a ripple of laughter. It did something to ease the tension. Even Peter himself gave a reluctant smile.

  Soren turned to Ellie. “Ignore my hasty friend. You are welcome here, old woman. You have already proved your worth – your companions too.”

  “Can you tell me more about the Lady, Soren?” There had been little time for conversation. And whoever this Lady was, the villagers were clearly frightened. Superstition ran high in the country and, according to legend, water demons haunted the lonely lakes and tarns. But this woman sounded far too real for that.

  “Aye - that I can.” All eyes were on the Yeoman as an uneasy silence settled on the room. “We heard tales from down the valley - stories of a strange woman searching for her son. She appeared at dawn for a week – always with the same words upon her lips: Where have they taken him?

  “It was nothing more than that at first – a rumour. Some said she was a wandering spirit, others that she was a mad woman from Oerin or beyond. Weeks went by without incident then two boys went missing from Low Crag.

  They searched and searched. After two long days and nights, one boy was found in the river, drowned. He was barely six years old.” Soren broke off, his expression dark.

  “And the other?” Ellie said softly.

  “Came back a day later - but his wits were gone. He didn’t know his mother, father or his sisters. He asked for the Lady and cried morning, noon and night, until the whole village could stand it no longer. Petitions were made, asking the yeoman to banish the family. The judgment was about to be declared in the meet house when the boy ran away and drowned himself, not half a league from where the other boy was found.”

  Ellie shuddered. Even allowing for an element of superstition, the story was an unnerving one. It wasn’t unheard of for young children to wander off and occasionally for such an event to end in tragedy. But a boy that had lost his mind – so much so that he took his own life? No wonder Nereid and the other village women had been so distraught.

  “Have there been any firm sightings of this woman?”

  Soren shook his head. “Some say she only appears to children; others that she’s merely a spirit made flesh.”

  “Old Ethan saw her,” a new voice piped up. Ellie saw it was a boy around Orla’s age, thin and unkempt. “Up by the horse’s tail. He said her eyes was black as night and skin as pale as milk. When she looked at him, his blood fair turned to ice.”

  A collective gasp went round the room, but Soren held up his hand. “The horse’s tail is a waterfall up the valley,” he explained. “Ethan keeps sheep there – when he’s not in the alehouse. I don’t think we should put too much store by his words.”

  “Perhaps not,” Ellie said, but noted the description all the same. “Has anyone seen or heard anything else?” She scanned the assembled faces. “Don’t be frightened – I want to help you.”

  The assembled women huddled closer together, their eyes downcast. They whispered amongst themselves, but said nothing.

  “Please,” Ellie pressed. “Anything at all – even the smallest thing.”

  Nereid jumped nervously and glanced quickly at Soren. Ellie saw she’d been keeping something from him. “Nereid, I can help you,” she said gently. “But only if you tell me what you know.”

  The Yeoman’s wife hesitated then seemed to gather courage. “It was just last week - I caught my boy Stefan out late one night, long after I’d put him to bed. He’d slipped out his window and gone off down the road, because he’d heard a woman singing. When I scolded him he cried and told me she would be angry. It was nonsense – or so I thought.” Her voice broke and she turned to her husband. “I’m so sorry Soren – it’s my fault he’s gone. I should have listened to him.”

  “Don’t blame yourself my love. Stefan was always playing tricks, so how were you to know? And no one’s at fault except the Lady.”

  “Soren’s right,” Ellie said. “And this information may be useful. If the Lady’s been here before, perhaps there’s something specific she wants.” Or someone, she thought.

  “You think she’s from these parts?” Soren asked.

  “Perhaps.” They were barely two days ride from the Vale and Ellie couldn’t rid herself of the notion that the Lady’s actions were connected to the breach. As Elok said, there was rarely such a thing as coincidence in Middengard. But that wasn’t something she was going to discuss in a public forum.

  She sighed inwardly. If only Isolde were here. The knowledge of the Vanir stretched back for centuries. If anyone could discern some pattern in these events it would be her. But Isolde was miles away in Skellstor and Ellie couldn’t turn back, no matter how much she would value further counsel.

  “So what are we to do Soren?” Peter asked, the other villagers adding their voices in support. “We can’t just give up.”

  Soren banged his staff on the floor. “We will never give up – not where our children are concerned and not whilst there is breath in my body. We will start the search again tomorrow at first light. Widen it to the ranges and beyond, if we have to.” He turned to Ellie. “And you, wise woman, may we call on your assistance for one more day?”

  Ellie hesitated. She knew she should proceed with all haste on her journey. There was more at stake than the fate of half a dozen village boys. But then she looked at Nereid’s hopeful face and found she didn’t have the heart to refuse. “Of course,” she said, bowing her head. “I will do whatever is in my power.”

  She was rewarded with a look of such gratitude from Nereid she felt she’d made the right decision. And if her Intuition told her she would be running a fool’s errand, she chose to ignore it, for nothing was more important than the lives of children.

  *

  Orla hadn’t liked leaving the village without Lady Eleanor. The Vale was only another two days ride away, if that. Eleanor had promised she would rendezvous with them the next morning, but what if she was delayed? She would have to go on to the Vale without her and the thought was terrifying.

  She gripped the side of the wagon as it swung from side to side. The twins were upfront and Daisy was cracking the whip. She knew they’d been frightened by the tales about the Lady, but they were determined not to show it. And if they could put a brave face on things, then she could too. Where’s your courage girl - buried in your boots? That’s what Isolde would say, if she were here. The thought made Orla smile and suddenly she felt better.

  But thinking about Isolde, no matter how much comfort it brought her, also reminded Orla of the other burden she was carrying – the burden of concealment. The memory of Isolde’s final words to her had already caused her many moments of unease. She hated hiding things from Lady Eleanor, but what was she to do?

  “You cannot tell Eleanor,” Isolde had whispered. “For I have seen Jonas. Jonas many moons ago, before his greed for the Doom Stone changed him. Then I saw Helaine and they were side by side at the lake’s edge. They are both dead and gone now. But that is what I saw.”

  Orla had been shocked. Helaine – Stanor’s dead wife. Like everyone in Skellstor, she knew the famous love story. But why had Isolde seen Jonas with Helaine? It made no sense. Isolde herself had seemed to agree with her. She had gripped her hand, eyes blazing.

  “The vision might mean something and it might mean nothing at all. Why destroy the happiness of others if it is my Sight that falters?”

  Orla very much doubted that Isolde’s Sight was failing. But perhaps the old woman was right to safeguard Helaine’s memory. Iris and the twins revered their dead mother and Stanor had sworn never to marry again. Any vision concerning Helaine would be too painful to make public. And as for Jonas – Orla knew all the reasons why Lady Eleanor would hate to be reminded of history long gone.

  “Look!” Rose shouted suddenly, jolting Orla from her musings. “Daisy – stop!”

  Daisy pulled up hard. Orla saw there was somethi
ng lying at the side of the road. It looked like a bundle of rags. Rose had jumped down and was crouching on the ground next to it.

  “It’s alright – you’re safe now,” Rose said. “We’ll take you with us and Orla can make you better.”

  The bundle moved and Orla was shocked to see that what she had taken for rags was a young child, his hair filthy with mud and leaves. Rose scooped him up and laid him in the back of the wagon.

  “Are you sure he’s alive?” Daisy said, peering at him. As well as being filthy, the boy’s clothes were bloodied.

  “Of course I am. He tried to tell me something, but then he fainted. You can help him, can’t you?” Rose said, giving Orla a pleading look.

  “I think so.” Orla took up the boy’s wrist, where she felt a faint pulse. “I need to clean these scratches.” The boy had cuts all over his arms and legs. Some were superficial, but others were deeper. She didn’t think anyone had attacked him, but he he’d scraped himself badly. Luckily they still had the plants they’d collected in the woods the previous day. There was healing moss amongst them as well as comfrey and mint that she could use for a restorative.

  She realized the twins were still staring at the boy and whispering behind their hands. “Go and get some fresh water – hurry up!” she said, sounding like Isolde as she shooed them away. The sooner she could revive him the better. As the twins had obviously divined, he was probably one of the missing children and he might know the whereabouts of the others.

  Suddenly the boy moaned pitifully. Orla unfastened her cloak and attempted to make him more comfortable. His skin felt cold and his lips were tinged with blue. She took his hands in hers and reached for the earth power. She felt the energy flow through her, gentle at first but increasingly powerful as it surged into him. Suddenly she could feel everything he was feeling – the cold in his bones and blood, the heat of his wounds, the dreadful longing in his heart…

  Orla gasped and pulled her hands away. She’d never felt such despair before. It was if all living things were lost forever and there was only cold dread and misery in their place, stretching out to eternity. Why had someone done this to such an innocent boy?