by Ana Salote
Sly leaned against the door frame. ‘Molly cook,’ he said, ‘don’t take this the wrong way, but I’ve known Inch report someone for not kicking a waif let alone having one spreadeagled across your middle like a starfish clinging to a manatee. I mean, I can see why anyone would find your middle a draw, but it’s wasted on waifs. Them hips is like… like you’ve been hoop-laed by a doughnut, all sweet and squashy.’
‘Away with you,’ said Molly. ‘I haven’t time for it tonight.’
Sly turned huffily. ‘Time for that scrap but no time for me.’
As Sly walked off into the dusk Inch appeared, as was her habit, from nowhere.
‘You’re wasting your time. You men are all the same. You see a bit of roly poly and you lose your wits. You want a woman who’s sharp up here.’ Inch tapped the side of her head. ‘One that would help you get on in life.’
‘Like you I suppose. No thanks.’
‘Don’t worry, I ain’t offering.’
Sly kept walking.
‘I got my pick of men,’ she called after him. ‘Birkin, Baffin, Larkin, Curzon…’
Her voice grew smaller and smaller as the names trailed after him in the dying light.
In the basement the waifs discussed the measuring.
‘We can forget about getting help from Miss Spindle,’ said Lucinda. Alas twisted his mouth in annoyance. ‘Jep’s got a queer kind of power over her. Tell him, Gertie.’
‘It’s true. He makes her go all…’ Gertie folded her hands together and batted her eyelids. ‘Oh, Jeremiah, yes, Jeremiah, whatever you say, Jeremiah.’
There were giggles all round the basement.
‘You’re not getting it. This is serious,’ said Alas. ‘We were lucky at the measuring today. I was close to the line and Kurt was closer still. I’d say he’s certain to go over next time. I might escape once more if I’m lucky. It’s likely that there’ll be milk for a few weeks so Master can say he paid some mind to Dr Sandy, and you know how we shoots up given half a chance. Kurt, you got to decide for yourself whether you takes any extra rations. I think maybe we should, for all the difference it will make.’
‘I’ll eat all I can get,’ said Kurt. ‘I wish I hadn’t listened to you. Now I’m stuck here till the next measuring.’
‘Wait and see. You might be glad of it when I’m done.’
‘What are you intending, Alas?’ asked Gritty.
He stared at the ceiling. ‘The Bone Room: I need to know more about it; especially that locked door at the back. How’m I going to do that?’
‘I got something for us,’ said Oy, handing his parcel to Lucinda.
She opened the paper of cakes to oohs and ahs. ‘Give me the knife, Alas, and I’ll cut them in half.’
‘Are they the ones you made, Oy?’ said Gertie. ‘He’s got a magic touch, Molly cook says.’
‘We’re a piece short,’ said Lucinda. ‘Everybody break a mouthful off your piece.’
‘That’s not fair, somebody gets ten mouthfuls then,’ said Blinda who, if fed, would have been a big girl and suffered more than the others with hunger.
‘I don’t want a whole piece,’ said Oy quietly, ‘just give me the crumbs.’
‘That’s not fair either,’ said Gertie.
‘It’s alright. I always lived on crumbs afore.’
Before anyone else could argue Blinda’s teeth broke the fine shell of frosting. ‘Ooh,’ she touched her lips, ‘that is... stars jumping on my tongue.’
The others swallowed together, and with one mind began to eat. Within moments there was only a silent licking of lips.
‘One taste is almost worse than no taste,’ said Blinda. ‘Sets up a craving.’
Oy took the paper, licked his finger and picked up some crumbs. He was the last to finish. The others watched him fixedly. The sugar brought focus to their eyes.
‘You make it seem like every crumb is a whole cake,’ said Blinda. ‘I wouldn’t mind learning a trick like that. How do you do it?’
‘Here,’ said Oy, offering Blinda some crumbs. ‘A sniff starts the taste. Now get the picture up and it’s not much different from real.’
Blinda smacked her lips and shook her head. ‘The picture don’t make it to my belly.’
‘Now,’ said Alas, ‘I think Gertie should go on with the story.’
Instantly they settled in delight. Here was a surer, quicker way to escape Duldred’s bottomest basement.
Gertie opened Lands of Milk & Honey and went on from where she had left off: ‘And the goatherd fell four fathoms into the sparkling water.’ They didn’t realise it, but all of them instantly had the picture up and it wasn’t much different from real.
7 Locks ’n’ Clocks
Alas slipped into the metals cubby where Billam sat at a table facing a row of candlesticks beneath a single oil lamp. On the shelves around him a hundred little lamps were held in the shine of spouts, goblets and decanter collars. The special stuff was all packed away in felt-lined boxes underneath. Billam was breaking and scraping wax trails from the candlesticks. He looked up in surprise. ‘Don’t stop,’ said Alas. ‘I’m looking for something and I ain’t got long.’
The spares and brokes trays fit loosely in a rack. Alas pulled them out and rummaged. He dug through broken tongs, buckled hinges, the guts of clocks, random rivets, handles and lids. ‘I know I saw it when I was on metals,’ he said. He tried another drawer. ‘Found it.’ It was a broken lock.
‘What do you want with that?’ asked Billam.
‘I’m going to learn how it works,’ said Alas. He picked out some pins, bars and rods that he thought might also be useful and the round back of a clock which was like a shallow dish.
He put his hand to the door knob then turned back. ‘Upservants take all the candle stubs I know, but…’ he ran the wax crumbs between his fingers, ‘this gets thrown away don’t it? Wrap it up when you’re done and bring it to the basement.’
‘What for?’
But Alas had already gone.
That night the waifs watched with interest as Alas melted wax over the fire in a clock back and poured it into a broken cup. He tied a piece of weighted string to a twig and suspended the twig over the wax with the string dangling into it. ‘Now we’ll wait for it to set,’ said Alas, ‘and if it works, we got our first candle. I’m going to skip reading tonight. I need to figure out how this works.’ He brought out the old lock and started to tinker with it.
Gertie had just seen the crumpled paper that Billam had used to wrap the wax in. She spread it out excitedly. ‘An old news-sheet,’ she said. ‘We can get some good words out of this.’ And they did, starting with ‘dangerous’, ‘predator’, ‘horrendous’ and ‘crime’. There were many phrases such as ‘expensive litigation’ which they did not understand but Gertie wrote them down because they looked useful, and she copied words like ‘paraphernalia’ because she liked them.
The next night as the bread tray was passed around, Oy shyly offered salad to go with it.
The waifs eyed the green stuff with suspicion. ‘What is it, Oy?’ asked Lucinda.
‘I got sent to clean the drains at the gate lodge,’ he said.
‘Ooh, hope they kept the dogs chained,’ said Elyut.
‘They was locked up,’ said Oy ‘but they was still bobbing up all along the wall with them yellow eyes and them screaming barks.’
‘The leaves?’ Lucinda prompted him.
‘I had to cross the scrub and I ain’t had much to do with green places afore. It made nice breathing, and I slowed right down and started sniffing all the flowers and herbs and having a taste. I found this one that tastes of lemons and one that tastes like onions and a flower what tastes like honey.’
‘So you just ate them? And weren’t you worried that you’d poison yourself or at least get a belly ache?’ said Lucinda.
‘Well it’s easy to smell good from bad, ain’t it?’ said Oy.
‘Is it?’
‘There’s a nundred more things in a smell than a taste ain’t the
re?’
‘Is there?’
Everybody sniffed.
‘There is to me,’ said Oy, wishing that he’d never begun the conversation.
‘Hey, don’t worry,’ said Alas. ‘We got good ears, you got a good nose. Nothing wrong with that. I’ll have a try of your leaves.’ Alas nibbled leaves and petals with his bread and declared that they were good.
The others asked if they could try.
‘You know, this don’t just taste good,’ said Blinda, ‘it feels as if it’s doing you good. Puts a liveliness in your blood, don’t you think?’
When the fire had burned to its last embers Alas lit a spill and held it to the wick of their candle. For a few ticks the candle burned with a tiny flame and went out. Alas straightened the wick and tried again. The small flame faltered, then it decided to live. Alas held the ball of light in his hand and walked up and down the basement shedding light wherever he chose. The waifs clapped their hands, laughed out loud and wondered why they had spent all their time laying low and growing when a bit of invention made so much difference.
Over the next few weeks more candles were made, more flowers were eaten, more words were learned and Alas found more locks to practise on. It became his obsession. He took risks, neglecting his work, doing only what was visible and hoping that the fireplaces would not start to smoke. The basement lock was a tough one but he mastered it, hatch locks were quite simple, and a rotting shed door yielded to his first attempt. He was ready to try something harder.
8 The Bone Room
Oy and Alas approached the pump from opposite sides. Oy held his arms out in front of him, dripping with slime. Alas was black from head to foot. A rare smile lit his face.
‘Aren’t we a pair of scarebeaks?’ he said. ‘I’m dirtier but you’re smellier. You go first and I’ll pump.’
Oy stuck his arms and then his head under the stream. He scooped the water over his head and it seemed to drop in chains from his hands.
‘What are you doing with that water?’ said Alas.
Oy turned to Alas with his eyes still closed. ‘Just washing,’ he said, and knocked his head on the spout.
They laughed and switched places. Alas wasn’t too particular. When the water ran grey instead of black it was good enough for him.
‘What’s the good of getting clean?’ he said. ‘I ain’t going nowhere but a black basement or a black chimney.’
‘How’re you doing with the locks?’ asked Oy.
‘I can get in and out of the basement quick as you like,’ he said, ‘but I found a new sort today. Couldn’t break it. That’s a worry.’ He stood back from the pump and shook himself like a dog. Oy copied him. Alas threw his head back and laughed. He hadn’t laughed so freely in a long time.
‘I got you to thank for making me act,’ said Alas as they walked back to the house. ‘Cinda – I’d kill anyone who tried to harm her, but she makes me mad. It’s always: “Be careful, don’t do this, wait and see.” She’s so cautious.’
‘Have you ever talked to her properly?’ said Oy, with his clear gaze.
‘Course, all the time.’
‘You’ll know then how she sneaked off to the rafts herself to keep her family from starving. She couldn’t say goodbye in case they stopped her, and that hurt ’cos she was specially close to her ma. She’s slow to anger but she ain’t cautious. There’s surprises in her.’
‘She told you all that?’
They walked in silence for a while.
‘There’s something about you, Oy. You’re like a pond what draws everybody to throw their troubles in,’ Alas observed, ‘yet you don’t mention your own.’
‘I’m forgetful, that’s all,’ said Oy, ‘even of troubles.’
‘I wish I had that gift.’
‘All I got to worry about is my promise to Linnet.’
‘You know, you don’t have to feel bad about that. Linnet will understand. Going back to the factory is near impossible.’ Alas wished he hadn’t spoken when he saw Oy’s face. ‘But keep hoping. It’s all we got. I been meaning to ask about your name? How did that come about?’
Oy explained. Alas walked in a circle, kicking at stones, his hands deep in his pockets.
‘That’s a strange tale: all alone like that, not knowing who or what you were. Want to know my story?’
‘If you would like to tell.’
Alas said nothing until they got back to the basement. They were the first to arrive so they started building the fire.
Alas lay twigs in a cage, then Oy passed him the larger sticks to lay on top.
‘I would like to tell,’ said Alas, sitting back on his heels, ‘only you’re not to say anything. Not even Cinda knows this.’ The grey eyes in the soot-dulled face were pained. ‘This is what Ena told me – she was the midwife what took me in. My mother was a street girl. Ena found her giving birth in an alley. Very young she was, and a rare beauty. Ena laid me in my ma’s arms.’ Alas stopped and frowned as though he really could recall the first moments of his life. ‘And we studied each other, serious-like. “Alas,” my mother said – just that one word, then she died looking into my eyes. Ena saw this rash blooming all over my face and body, saw it flowering she said. So she named me Alas Ringworm. When I was six or seven she took me to a healer. The healer said there was nothing to be done about the rash. It was a punishment and I must bear it. Ena asked her what I was being punished for. “A life was given up for him,” the healer said. “There’s darkness around him.” And she took Ena aside and spoke to her, low. A week after that I was put on a raft.’
Oy patted Alas’s arm.
Alas closed his eyes. ‘Am I very bad, Oy?’
‘Why would you think that?’
‘For killing my ma.’
‘It wasn’t your fault.’
Lucinda came running down the stone steps. She threw her bucket and cloths across the room and dropped down on the chair. Her skirt billowed, showing her tatty underskirts and boots. She lifted her apron up over her face and laughed into it.
‘What?’ said Alas.
‘Master’s got run a’bed. I was cleaning the Basalt when Inch sweeps past. “Get out of the way,” she said, “Doctor’s coming.” I couldn’t go up and I couldn’t go down, so I had to stand behind the Master’s door.
‘Doctor goes in, tells Inch to fetch tepid water and towels, so she leaves the door propped open and I can see between the hinges, Master…’ her face crumpled. ‘Hang on, he…’ she cracked again. ‘Master was lying on his side, his legs going round and round like he’s on a mill-wheel. His great long shin bones under the covers jerking up and down, and his face, he’s trying to look dignified, but his body won’t let him. “Tie me down,” he says, “tie me down.” “That would be dangerous,” the Doctor says. “You must let the disease run its course.” Then he laughs, and Master looks death at him. “Forgive me,” says the Doctor, “an old pun. There’s little enough fun in my profession. Illness and death you know.” Inch spoiled it closing the door.’
Alas chewed his lip thoughtfully.
‘It was funny,’ said Lucinda.
‘I’m thinking,’ said Alas. ‘How long does it last?’
‘Run a’bed? It’s a child’s illness. If you get it late, like Master, it takes you much worse. Could go on for four or five days. Upservants are going down, too. I hear three of them has got it.’
‘Now’s the time then.’
Lucinda’s mirth drained away. ‘You’re going to break into the Bone Room aren’t you?’
‘I got to try.’
‘Alas, don’t. Or at least wait a bit.’
Alas chewed his nails. ‘What do you think, Oy?’
‘I suppose if you can’t get past a thing, only way is through it.’
‘That’s exactly right. Now then, I’ll need a lookout.’
Lucinda kept her eyes on the new flames cradling the logs. She was ready to protest, but Alas didn’t ask her. ‘Oy?’ he said.
‘If you want me,’ said
Oy.
The fire cracked and spit a flaming splinter onto the hearth. Lucinda looked from one to the other, feeling that she had missed something.
Two waifs and two candles moved wavering up the Huntsman’s stair. Their giant shadows shivered on the walls. ‘Wish that was really us,’ whispered Alas, nodding towards the shadows. ‘I’d feel braver.’
‘You’re brave enough,’ said Oy. ‘Anyway, who’s going to catch us? Upservants are long gone. Master can’t get out of bed.’
As they climbed nearer to the Bone Room, with the Master’s chamber just above it, they fell silent and trod more softly still. The Basalt was a secondary stair, walled on both sides with a rope banister. Recesses held stark arrangements of bones. The Bone Room led off the first landing. Alas handed Oy his candle and knelt before the door. He peered at the keyhole then pushed in a length of metal and began probing with a bent wire. He wiggled the wire for what seemed an age. It didn’t look like he would succeed; there was no air of success about him.
‘It’s alright,’ Oy breathed. ‘All’s quiet. Take your time.’
Alas flexed his fingers and tried again. A tiny click inside the lock made him smile. ‘Got one.’ Within minutes they were through to the second door. Alas knelt before it and leant his forehead on the door.
‘What’s wrong,’ Oy whispered.
‘It’s just – in the dream, behind this door, there’s... But it’s only a dream.’
Oy nodded. ‘A dream. That’s all.’
‘Right,’ Alas took a breath, wiped his palms on his thighs and tried again.
Oy wrinkled his nose at the exhibit beyond Alas. ‘Hawk with sc-or-pit – scorpit,’ he whispered, reading the card. The hawk had the scorpit in its beak tearing its body in two, but the scorpit had one huge claw clamped around the hawk’s skull, ready to crush it in its own death throes.
Alas wiggled the wire and listened; the clicks followed one after another. ‘Damn, it’s a three-hander.’ He stood up and felt in his pockets. ‘Good job you’re here. Hold this rod steady, don’t let it drop, while I… that’s it, one more I reckon. We’re in. You ready?’