Oy Yew (The Waifs of Duldred Trilogy Book 1)

by Ana Salote

  ‘No, this is the one, listen how he’s ringing: there’s a threat in it.’ Lucinda stood up, pulled her shawl close about her and made to go.

  Alas blocked her path and laid his hand on her arm. ‘Take care.’ Lucinda pulled away. ‘I’m serious. If it’s dangerous don’t do it.’

  She raised an eyebrow and laughed bitterly. ‘I’ve lived through plenty of punishments. I doubt I’d live through refusing one. Anyway, if you’re right I ain’t growed enough to be on the hit list yet.’

  Jeopardine waited for Lucinda in the centre of the atrium. The silence was profound. Her slippers scuffed softly as she walked towards him. She stood level with his chest, looking at the fine mushroom and silver stitching on his waistcoat. Then, she did what she had never done before, she looked him full in the face. She saw the black hair clipped in sharp lines and oiled cleanly back, the slim arch of the brows and the blue points where the hairs entered waxy, lightly fragranced skin.

  ‘You know why you are here,’ he began, ‘I refer, of course, to your loitering in a hallway at a most inappropriate moment, and then, sniggering.’

  ‘Oh sir, I never.’

  ‘Inch has confirmed it. You will make it far worse by lying.’

  Lucinda sighed wearily. ‘Nat’rally, sir, I did whatever Inch said I did, only I didn’t know I did it.’ Something rose in Lucinda. Her eyes sparked and her voice grew stronger. ‘I didn’t know that to move as quickly as I could from one task to the next was known as loitering. I didn’t know breathing in and out was called sniggering.’ Be quiet you idiot, she thought. But her voice carried on without her. ‘I didn’t know it was inappropriate of me not to know you was to be took ill at that very moment, else I should certainly have been walking backwards with my eyes shut.’

  Jeopardine turned one ear towards her as though he struggled to make sense of what she said. ‘Incredible,’ he said when she had finished. ‘Stairs has thoughts; she is almost as rebellious as the other, as Chimneys.’ He held his chin and deliberated, looking at her at intervals and looking away. ‘Where is the highest ceiling in the house do you think?’

  Lucinda’s head tipped back and back and back. She pointed up with dread. ‘Here, sir.’

  ‘Quite right.’

  A ladder tower stood in the centre of the atrium. All five ladders were extended, each narrower than the last. The topmost wafted like a wand.

  ‘Even this ladder will not reach up into the dome,’ he said.

  Lucinda stared into the midnight and gold space where a massive chandelier hung like a vast sparkly spinning top.

  ‘The chandelier is within reach – just. You will spend the night hours cleaning it.’ He wheeled the tower across the atrium until it stood beneath the chandelier. ‘Climb up please.’

  ‘Sir, the top, it’s bendy.’

  ‘Yes, yes. It allows you to direct it by shifting your weight. There’s a trick to it.’

  Overcome by dizziness, Lucinda crumpled to the floor with her skirts around her.

  ‘I’ll take that as a refusal.’ Jeopardine strode to the bell cords and rang all the bells simultaneously. Alas was the first to arrive at the atrium. He saw the tower and guessed at the punishment. He faced Jeopardine.

  ‘Lucinda don’t like heights, sir. I’ll take the punishment.’

  The others gathered round.

  ‘Line up, all of you. Form a line.’ Jeopardine nudged Lucinda with his toe. ‘Coward, one of your fellows will pay your forfeit.’

  ‘I’m doing it!’ Lucinda stood up and began knotting her skirt out of the way.

  ‘Cinda, you’ll get dizzy and fall and that’s certain,’ said Gritty. ‘I’ll do it, sir. Ceilings is my job.’

  ‘I said I’m doing it,’ Lucinda insisted. ‘I’m ready now, sir.’

  Jeopardine did not appear to be listening. He was staring up at the chandelier. They waited. He spun around to face them and walked up and down the line of waifs before prodding the smallest shoulder, ‘I choose Drains.’

  ‘But sir,’ said Alas, ‘I’m far worser than he is. Oy’s never any trouble and he ain’t even... he ain’t even tall.’

  ‘Are you questioning my judgement? Are you pecking at it? Peck, peck, peck.’ Jeopardine made a jutting motion as of a bird pecking, a large black bird. He walked Alas away from the rest of them and bent to his ear. ‘Be careful, be very careful.’ They circled back to the group. ‘I have chosen Drains.’

  ‘It’s alright, Cind, really,’ said Oy.

  He put on the belt hung with dusters and began to climb, his tiny figure receding into the gloom.

  ‘Now, onto the chandelier,’ Jeopardine called.

  Oy leaned out towards the chains that sloped away from him and made grabbing motions with his hands until Jeopardine lost patience. ‘Raymun move the tower in. Try again,’ he called.

  Oy tried again. As he leaned out the tower moved the opposite way. ‘I’d better wedge it, sir,’ said Raymun.

  ‘No need. I have it,’ said Jeopardine. One of his hands rested lightly against the poles.

  ‘Oy, you got to use your weight to get the ladder swinging; when it takes you near the light you got to hop off. It’s all in the timing,’ Gritty called.

  ‘He ain’t heavy enough,’ said Raymun.

  ‘He isn’t trying,’ said Jeopardine. ‘Get on, boy, or Stairs will have to join you.’

  Oy leaned back hard, then he swung himself forwards; again he swung back and forth. Twelve heads below followed him back, forth, back, forth – forth! Oy let go. The ladder launched him towards the chandelier. No one breathed. Some of the waifs covered their eyes. Oy caught the chains. There was tinkling as all the crystals trembled on their wires.

  ‘Good,’ said Jeopardine, though he looked disappointed. He circled the atrium turning off all but one of the oil lamps.

  ‘He ain’t going to leave him swinging is he?’ whispered Lizbuth.

  ‘Beg pardon, sir,’ said Raymun, ‘should I wait and talk him down onto the brackets?’

  ‘Nonsense, he has only to slide down – somehow. Why are you all standing around? You’re dismissed.’

  Kurt and Jakes turned to go but no one else moved. Lucinda stared at Jeopardine. The hatred on her face was too open. Gritty nudged her and widened her eyes in warning.

  ‘I said, dismissed,’ Jeopardine waved his hand at them. ‘It will be the worse for him if you dally.’

  They began to move but their heads twisted back towards Oy. ‘Lor’ don’t let him fall,’ said Blinda. She turned to Gertie. ‘Something about him, I been happier since he came. Calms me and he listens.’

  ‘I know what you mean,’ said Gertie.

  Lucinda hung back. She stuffed her apron in her mouth and Gritty ushered her away.

  Meanwhile, Jeopardine made his way to the kitchens where Mrs Midden was back in charge. The pain had left her quite suddenly. Dr Sandy could not explain it.

  ‘Mrs Midden, I am pleased to see that you are restored to health.’

  ‘No more than I am, sir. It’s very good of you to make a special trip down here just to welcome me back. Dr Sandy bade me take another day but I said, “No, Master will be craving old Midden’s special touch.”’

  ‘Indeed. However, I’ve been most impressed with Molly’s skills, thanks to your training of course. You’ve more than earned your retirement so perhaps it’s time…’

  ‘Humph. She might have learned a few fancy tricks. I’ll bet she didn’t serve you any pies while I was sick did she?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘No, and I’ll tell you why not. It’s because her pastry is like a tramp’s shoe leather.’

  ‘Oh Aunt, that’s strong.’

  The Master cleared his throat. ‘Well perhaps, if you were to carry on with the staples, Mrs Midden, and when something a little more adventurous is called for Molly cook could take the lead. I’m really thinking of the Ossiquarian dinner. I can’t tell you how crucial it is that we impress.’

  Mrs Midden picked up the rolling pin
and slapped it into her palm.

  Jeopardine began backing out of the kitchen. ‘I’ll leave you to think it over.’

  Mrs Midden advanced on Molly. ‘Learning tricks, then waiting till I’m out of the way to show off. Taking all the glory yourself.’

  ‘I thought you were looking forward to your rest years.’

  ‘So I am, and I’d like to carry on looking forward. I won’t be rushed ’n’ pushed.’

  ‘It’s not like that.’ A sullen silence hung between them till Molly broke it. ‘You were right about the shoe leather.’

  ‘Don’t I know it,’ said Mrs Midden.

  ‘Aunt, I’m not what Master thinks, not at all. Me, produce an election-winning dinner; my knees are going to jelly just thinking about it. Me who can burn bubble pot. I want to confess. All that fancy cooking he’s been so taken with, I didn’t do none of it.’

  Mrs Midden came to stand beside Molly. ‘Who then?’

  ‘Oy.’

  ‘Oy! Sewers waif?’

  ‘Yes. I couldn’t cope on my own; I asked for a bit of help and he’s got this gift.’

  ‘Gift? He’s a waif, a nothing.’ The old cook’s face lightened. ‘Master will have to know of course. He wouldn’t allow a waif to cut his bread let alone do a job like that. I’ll take that stargazy pie up for his supper, remind him what he’s been missing.’

  Lucinda lay in her chair and cried. She looked up at the ceiling while her eyes and nose streamed. The others looked bewildered. No one cried, ever.

  ‘I hate him. I hate him,’ she got out through spasms. She saw the way they all looked at her, a sort of withdrawing. ‘I’m sorry.’ She pulled her apron over her head. ‘I can’t help it. Reta, Owin and the rest, and all this toil and all these punishments what none of us deserves. And why’s he picking on Oy of a sudden?’

  Alas stood close to her. His hand hovered near her shoulder while he stole quick, pained looks at her face.

  ‘It’s not right, none of it,’ Lucinda sniffed.

  ‘Who’s Owin?’ said Billam.

  ‘Not now, Billam,’ said Alas.

  Still the tears came. The talk she’d had with Oy, about her family in Poria, had opened something inside her. She cried for anger and for sadness, but what she cried for most was the thing that she must never say: how much she missed her mother. And Jeopardine wanted to take all hope of going home away from them. Lucinda sat up, suddenly dry. Her well was empty. She felt clear. A terrible idea began to form.

  Mrs Midden balanced the pie in one hand and knocked on the study door. She centred her golden rolling pin medal on her chest, and smoothed her apron as she waited.

  ‘Come,’ said the Master turning from his desk. ‘Mrs Midden.’ His eye twitched nervously.

  ‘There,’ said Mrs Midden. She placed the pie on a side table, the circle of fish heads staring glassily upwards. ‘A little message from me to you. Your boyhood favourite and no hard feelings.’

  ‘Very nice thank you. Mrs Midden, let us speak calmly. You know better than anyone how important the Ossiquarians dinner is to me. Tastes have changed since my father’s day. Have you thought a little more about... about resting.’

  Mrs Midden’s face tightened again.

  ‘Sir, there’s been a misunderstanding. I can’t have you thinking so low of me. Those fancy dishes you was admiring weren’t done by Molly cook at all. She didn’t do much more than stir in the salt, sir.’

  ‘Then who is the culinary artist? Not Sly I’m quite sure.’

  ‘Oy, sir – Drains to you, sir.’

  ‘Drains! Impossible.’

  ‘No sir, possible and true. Naturally you’ll want to punish the boy, but I ask you to go easy on Molly. And don’t worry about the dinner, sir. There’ll be no outlandish sauces and no sculptures on a plate. Fine plain cooking is what’s needed.’

  ‘Mmm.’ Jeopardine cleared his throat. ‘Mrs Midden, you wouldn’t deceive me about Drains?’

  Mrs Midden bristled like a giant porcupine.

  ‘No, no of course you wouldn’t. So all the time you were ill…’

  ‘Oy was doing the cooking: at least the important bits.’

  Jeopardine clutched his brow. ‘Illness, you know, can cause delusions.’

  ‘I swear on my aunt’s cooking bonnet,’ her voice rose high and loud, ‘on her own bonnet as is all I’ve got left of her and you know how I prize it, I swear on that bonnet… Oy Yew. True!’ she screeched, and then began to gasp, her face darkening. She lay back on the sofa and threw one leg sharply above her head.

  ‘Oh dear, you’re having a relapse. Let me help you out. Don’t worry, your position as head cook is safe, only just this once I’d like… well, I’ll explain tomorrow.’ He pushed her towards the kitchens. ‘Take care,’ he called feebly, as she stumbled down the steps. He turned then and ran in the opposite direction.

  He stopped in the atrium beneath the chandelier and cleared his throat. ‘You can come down,’ he called. ‘I’ve changed my mind. Stairs must pay her own forfeit. Can you hear me?’ Jeopardine began lighting the lamps. He shaded his eyes and looked up again. ‘Blast him, he’s asleep,’ he muttered. Jeopardine wrestled with himself. He moved towards the bell cord, then back again. He stood on the centre star of the atrium with folded arms, staring at the chandelier. Oy sighed, stirred and settled further sideways. Jeopardine raised his arms to fend off the falling body, but somehow Oy remained where he was. Jeopardine sped to the Malachite and once more rang all the bells, hushing the waifs as they approached.

  They watched baffled as Jeopardine pointed upwards and placed a finger to his lips. ‘The sewers boy – idle, gone to sleep, about to fall.’

  ‘No,’ Lucinda moaned.

  ‘Shush,’ said Jeopardine, ‘no alarms. Fetch mattresses. Be quick and be quiet.’

  Alas understood first. He explained as he pulled the others away, ‘To break his fall – guest rooms is nearest. Go – fast as you can!’

  The mattresses came down the stairs, some sliding, some end over end, with bodies riding and falling among them. They dragged the beds towards the atrium and then went back for more. When the mattresses were piled two and three deep they formed a circle around the edges. They swallowed and stilled their panting breath.

  ‘Sir, let me go up and grab him,’ said Alas.

  Jeopardine nodded. ‘Go on, but don’t startle him.’

  Alas began to climb. As he neared the top, mattress dust set up a tickle in his throat. He stopped level with Oy and coughed with his mouth closed, his cheeks puffing like a toad. Oy smacked his lips; his eyeballs rolled under the lids. ‘Shhh,’ Alas soothed. He motioned to Raymun to edge the ladder closer.

  ‘Can’t do it, sir, without shifting a mattress,’ said Raymun. ‘He could jump for it but I reckon they’d both come off.’

  ‘Stay,’ called Jeopardine.

  Alas coughed.

  Oy turned in his sleep. Seeking relief from the hard chain against his face, he turned and kept on turning. He turned right off the chandelier and into clear space.

  The air caught him like a leaf or a snowflake. It seemed that he fell slowly making graceful shapes with his limbs.

  When Oy opened his eyes he was bemused. Above him was the chandelier, around him a circle of faces and beneath his back a feather mattress. He smiled.

  ‘No more disturbed than a fly flicked from a horse,’ said Jeopardine. ‘Raymun, see that all his parts are in order.’

  ‘Don’t move,’ said Raymun. ‘You just fell from way up there. Let me check your bones.’

  At the word ‘bones’ Jeopardine looked away wistfully.

  The waifs formed a guard around Oy and marched him back to the basement. Later, while everyone slept, Lucinda told Alas about her plan.

  16 The Rabidus

  Alas fought his moth-eaten cover. Oy felt his way across the basement, moving around the sleepers by sense and memory. Eyes open or closed, the room was so intensely black it made no difference. He stopped and reached out a hand to
soothe his friend.

  ‘Can’t…get…out.’ Alas seemed in the last stages of suffocation.

  Oy continued to rock his shoulder gently until Alas dropped back into his body with a violent jerk.

  ‘Another bad one?’ said Oy.

  There was a rustle as Alas drew his knees up to his chest. ‘I don’t think I can do it.’

  ‘Cinda’s plan?’

  ‘You know?’

  ‘I heard.’

  Alas lowered his voice further, ‘You could have died the other night. Don’t know why Jep changed his mind at the last minute. Could be any one of us next. I got one more thing to try. Will you help? It steadies me when you’re around.’

  Oy said that he would.

  Two days later Alas and Oy crawled out of the study hatch. The study was the wealth-making heart of the estate. Compared to the rest of the house it was shabby, almost unchanged since the old master had worn his life out there. The furniture was solid, heavy and plain. There was no display of luxury yet the room smelt of money itself. The walls leaned close and were lined with ledgers. On the desk were wells for three colours of ink; various seals, stamps and blotters. A figurine stood at each end. One was a white marble Mammus, god of wealth. Its gilded face smiled blandly; self-satisfied, yet hard and empty. On the other side was Penoory, spirit of want: a hollow-eyed hag carved roughly in wood. At her feet were bundles of rags with faces. They were her children Unga and Rech.

  Alas examined Penoory. ‘They use these to scare their kids,’ he said, ‘or to goad themselves into making more money. It’s a skilled piece of work. I’d like to make something as good one day.’

  In front of the desk was a cracked leather chair shaped to the old master’s broad behind. Alas draped it with a dust cloth. ‘Chimney’s not a climber,’ he said. ‘I’ll set up my brushes first. If anyone comes it looks like I’m doing my job. You stand by the door; any sound at all you dive behind this fire screen. Master’s down at the new dairy site, sacking some men from what I heard. They’ve been at it ten days and the foundations ain’t even ready.’

  Oy stood sentry by the door while Alas fitted the brushes together and threw dust cloths over the rest of the furniture. He did a circuit of the study; touching, nosing, looking over and under. He pulled out a waif ledger and scanned the musty pages, faintly ruled in turquoise ink. ‘Dillis Pomroy,’ he read, ‘stairs, arrival date – this is way back, and then an L with another date. That must be her leaving date. Catcher Mooney, chimneys. He’s an L. Junk Pomroy – there’s a D after his name. What do you think that stands for?’