The Lion Lies Waiting

by Glenn Quigley

  “My parents were a triune,” Iris said directly to Mrs. Knight, “and a blissfully happy one to boot. I had a wonderful mother and two loving fathers. I always admired them for making it work. It can be hard enough to keep one person happy, let alone two.”

  “I hope you’re not suggesting keeping me happy is a difficult endeavour, my dear!” Eva said.

  She was so proud Iris was finally standing up to Mrs. Knight, her heart swelled as if to burst.

  “Oh, no, never. You are like a gentle breeze from an open window on a summer’s day. Light and cheery and a welcome addition to any room,” Iris giggled.

  Mrs. Knight, clearly miffed her attempt to goad the men had failed, excused herself. Eva had planned to speak to Edwin and Robin about their proposal, but given the way they were holding their heads, it didn’t look like the appropriate time. Besides, something had clearly happened with Duncan. The unspoken language between the three men had a new cadence to it. A subtly different timbre. Whatever had happened, she hoped it was for the best.

  CARRIAGE WHEELS SLUSHED through the snow-packed winding roads, the noise made louder by the white stillness of the Blackrabbit countryside. Bare trees lined their way, a skeleton army standing guard. Edwin watched Robin draw clumsy shapes in the condensation on the glass with his thick finger. A simple boat with two masts, an anchor, a moth.

  “Thinking about home?” Edwin asked.

  Robin nodded. “I loved this time of year when I were a little ’un, when Dad were alive,” he said. “We’d go out early on Bucca’s Call and watch the sun rise over the ’ills. Then, later on, we’d climb the ’eadland and watch it set again, lookin’ out over the village, seein’ everyone out celebratin’. The shortest day o’ the year an’ we spent every minute of it together. Even when we went to the Moth & Moon at night for the proper celebrations, ’e never went too far away from me. It were…special. Course, it all changed after ’e died. When everyone thought ’e’d murdered Barnabas Whitewater. I went out in Bucca that first year, but it weren’t the same. There were none o’ the warmth, the joy, it were just…not empty, but…wrong? Like I were makin’ fun of ’im somehow, like I were mockin’ our traditions by doin’ ’em without ’im. From then on, I started to watch the celebrations from my balcony—the singin’ an’ dancin’ at the pub—maybe I’d ’ave a warm drink or two. I tried joinin’ in a few times over the years, but I knew I weren’t welcome, an’ I just made people uncomfortable. They didn’ want anythin’ to do with the son of a murderer. It got worse as I got older, taller, fatter! There weren’t anywhere I could go where I weren’t in someone’s way, where I didn’t stand out like a sore thumb, so I stopped tryin’ to be a part of it altogether. Morwenner came with me to visit Dad’s gravestone on solstice afternoon. All them years, side by side, an’ she never let on she were really my mum.”

  Robin’s gruff voice had taken on a wistful tone. Airy, almost. He continued to draw on the glass, waves and fish and simple V-shapes as birds.

  “She’d sit with me for a couple of ’ours in the evenin’, even though all of ’er friends wanted ’er to be with ’em. I’d ’ave to make ’er go an’ join the rest o’ the village. There were no sense in ’em fallin’ out with ’er, too. I always envied those big families I’d see ’avin’ a meal in the Moth at this time of year. All drinkin, an’ dancin, an’ celebratin together. Must be nice.”

  He said the last part with a sad little smile, forced and unconvincing.

  “Then you an’ me, we made our own traditions, didn’t we, Duncan? But after we parted ways, they didn’t bring me any ’appiness anymore. This year were meant to be different, mind. Now they all know the truth about Dad, now they’ve all changed their minds about me. This year I were goin’ to join in. This year I were goin’ to be welcome.”

  Edwin grabbed Robin’s knee and squeezed it as a sharp pang of guilt stabbed his stomach. He had taken Robin away from his home at an important time of year, but that year should have been extra special. Instead of enjoying it with his family, Robin was there, away from home, right by his side, because it was where Edwin needed him to be.

  THE MOOD IN the Roost was different to how it had been just the day before. The people were more relaxed, but nonetheless, the men were met with wariness from those in the tents and cabins they passed. It was odd how anyone could just walk around up there, but Edwin guessed a quick call for help would have dozens of Stormlost upon any troublemakers in moments.

  After some fruitless searching for Edwin’s mother’s whereabouts, Duncan decided to ask a local for help. He picked a large man sitting cross-legged at the mouth of a canary-yellow tent made from soiled blankets. The man loosely held a pair of breeches in one hand and in the other, a small box formed from a thick latticework of brass. Through the gaps, gears and cogs could be seen ticking away. These caused a needle in an opening at the end of the box to push a strand of thread slowly in and out, sewing together a tear in the crotch of the garment. Edwin wondered why the man bothered when it would obviously be much faster to sew them manually, but a closer look at the man’s gnarled, damaged hands provided the answer. He assumed they were another legacy of the hurricane.

  Duncan cleared his throat before speaking. “Hullo, sir? I wonder if you could help us. We’re trying to find a woman named Mrs. Sylvia Farriner. Red hair? Skinny? Demeanour of an angry ferret?”

  “Duncan!” Robin bellowed, before offering an apologetic look to Edwin.

  The cross-legged man said nothing and returned to his sewing. They received the same reaction from the next person they asked. And the next. And the next. Finally, they found a small boy sitting with a puppy in his arms. Robin sat beside him and offered him the cloth filled with ham he pulled from his pocket. He’s taken it from the breakfast table at Chase Manor in case he was peckish on the return journey. The boy was hesitant at first, but he took the meat, tasted a piece, and then fed a chunk of it to his grateful dog.

  “I’m Robin. What’s your name?”

  The boy pet his dog’s head.

  “Brendan, sir,” he said in a lilting accent.

  “Not much food up ’ere, I suppose.”

  The boy shook his head. “No, sir. But it’s all being taken care of, so I’m told.”

  “Truly? Good news, indeed,” Robin said.

  “Yes, sir, it is. Our voices are being heard, sir. That’s what I’m told.”

  “I’m glad to ’ear it, Brendan,” Robin said, unsure about to what he was referring. “We’re lookin’ for someone. A ginger-’aired woman who came ’ere from Merryapple. She spoke to the crowd yesterday afternoon.”

  “Oh, you mean Missus Farriner?” he said.

  “You know ’er?”

  “She’s the one who’s taking care of us, sir. She’s our voice. Ever since she came here, she’s been the one would speak up for us, in the council meetings. She made them help us find wood and supplies, she’s going to make them build us new houses. She’s the Voice of the Roost—that’s what I’m told,” Brendan said, excitedly.

  “That’s what you’re told, is it?” Duncan murmured.

  “Do you know where we can find her?” Edwin asked.

  “Look for the boat. You can’t miss it,” he said, pointing over his shoulder.

  The trio set off in the direction he indicated, a trifle baffled.

  “I wonder what ’e meant by boat?” Robin mused. “Surely there can’t be any boats all the way up ’ere.”

  “Actually…” Duncan said, stopping in his tracks and pointing.

  They found themselves facing the largest structure they’d seen so far. It was an old cabin with two smaller shacks attached to the sides and topped with an upside-down lugger patched into the framework. Its hull pointed skywards, its paintwork covered by a thin blanket of snow. The Voice of the Roost was being well taken care of. Edwin approached alone, fearful the sight of all three men would upset her. There was no door, but instead a heavy curtain covered the entranceway. He rapped a knuckle on the worn wo
od it was fastened to.

  “Hullo? Mum? It’s Edwin. Are you in?” he called.

  Receiving no response, he carefully pulled back the sheet and ducked inside as Robin and Duncan watched from nearby. He had to stoop a little, although the inside of the boat forming part of the ceiling gave him a little extra room to manoeuvre. The boards underfoot creaked and the stale smell of the camp outside was a pleasant spring meadow compared to the reeking damp of those quarters. Dark patches grew in corners on the ceiling and floor. There was little light, even though it was bright outside, and cold air whistled through gaps in the walls where the various scraps of wood hadn’t been properly secured.

  “Mum?” he called again.

  A muffled, indistinct reply came from one of the other rooms. Suddenly, his mother burst through a curtain brandishing a poker.

  “They’re mine!” she screamed, as she flew at him, ready to strike. He caught her hand. For a moment, she looked confused.

  “Edwin?” she muttered.

  “What are you doing? Who did you think it was?” he asked, taking the poker from her and dropping it on the floor.

  “No one, no one,” she repeated. “Come in, won’t you? Come in!” She fussed about her shawl and straightened her soiled dress, then placed a small black kettle on top of a stove. Edwin marvelled at the setup. A chimney rose from the little potbellied burner and poked through a carelessly cut hole in the ceiling. He’d seen many of these on the way through the Roost and he tried not to imagine what would happen should a stray coal get loose, or even an errant spark.

  “Tea! You’ll have tea with your old mum, won’t you? Course you will,” she said. “You look well, bigger round the middle.”

  She rubbed the air around her emaciated stomach as though it were a caldron. Edwin moved about the room, uncertain of what to do next. If only he could get her to sit still, he could talk to her properly. A cup of tea would help focus things. He moved two small slates off one of the cushions and settled himself as best he could. His long legs made it awkward for him to position himself, but he soon found a reasonably comfortable arrangement, though something he couldn’t quite find was jabbing into his thigh. His mother joined him with a grubby teapot and two chipped cups.

  “I’ve got a bit of bad news,” Edwin said. “Mrs. Firebrace says you’re not to return to the inn.”

  She scrunched up her face and threw back her head. “I hated it there, anyway. All those people, with their filthy rooms and filthy habits. Better off here. They need me here.”

  “I’m told you’re the voice of these people,” he said as he waited for his drink to cool a little. The tea grew curls of steam in the chilly air.

  “They need me,” she said. “They all need me.”

  “Clearly they need someone, but how did it come to be you?”

  “When I arrived here they were scattered and scared, fighting among themselves. Directionless. It took a firm hand to steady their course. I spoke for them when they couldn’t speak for themselves. The council listens to me.”

  Because you don’t give them much choice, I suppose, Edwin thought.

  “Why are you here?” she said, her eyes becoming sharp, her tone harsher. “It’s her, isn’t it? She sent for you. She summoned you here to deal with me!”

  She sprang to her feet and began to pace the floorboards.

  “Yes, Mum. Hester asked me to come, she says you’ve been…you’ve been tormenting her and the boys.”

  “Tormenting her?” she cried. “She’s the one who’s tormenting me! Keeping me away from Ambrose’s boys! My grandsons! I would never hurt them!”

  She was becoming hysterical, stabbing at her own heart with jagged finger and ragged nail.

  “Mum, just calm down,” Edwin said, reaching under his leg and finally finding what was sticking into it. “Come and sit down and…”

  He stopped as he lifted up a stick of chalk. There had been two slates on the cushion. The kind used in schools. He lifted them up as well.

  “Mum,” he said, “why do you have slates?”

  She stood frozen, her eyes darting to the room she had come from. A shuffling coming from within prompted Edwin to clamber to his feet and run through the curtain, chased by his mother.

  “No!” she shrieked. “It’s none of your business!”

  Edwin’s eyes darted around the gloomy room and landed on a large trunk.

  “No, stay away!!” she screamed, just as Robin grabbed her. Duncan said they’d heard shouting and came running.

  “Oh, Mum,” Edwin whispered. “What have you done?”

  He lifted the lid of the trunk and found his two young nephews inside. He removed the filthy gags from their mouths. The two boys were shaken but otherwise unhurt.

  “Its fine, you’re fine,” he reassured them. “You might not remember me. I’m your Uncle Edwin.”

  Hob, the eldest of the boys, stared at him for a moment. “Mummy talks about you. She says you look like Daddy.”

  Edwin’s mother had tied their hands and feet with rope, but Edwin made easy work of freeing them. Robin, the most competent sailor in Blashy Cove, had passed on quite a bit of knowledge about knots to him.

  “Boys, these are my friends, Mr. Shipp and Mr. Hunger. They’ll bring you home. I need to stay here and have a word with your grandmother,” Edwin said.

  The two boys were still shaking slightly, but they went with the men. Robin lifted the smallest boy, Rowan, in his arms and gave him one his broad, dopey grins. The little lad giggled. Robin turned to Edwin as if to ask “are you sure?” Edwin nodded in reply. He hoped he appeared more confident than he felt.

  Chapter Twelve

  When they were alone, Edwin sat facing his mother. She had stopped trembling and sat bolt upright, her shawl wrapped tightly around her slender shoulders, her chin set high.

  “What were you thinking?” Edwin asked at last. “Kidnapping the boys? What for? Why would you take them?”

  “They’re sick. They need me.”

  “They don’t look sick. And even if they are, you’re not a doctor.”

  She sneered at him. “You wouldn’t understand. You don’t have children. You could never understand.”

  He thought about saying “not yet” but settled for: “Then explain it to me.”

  She said nothing.

  “This can’t go on, Mum. You can’t stay like this.”

  “What choice do I have?” she yelled suddenly. “Your father made sure I can’t go home, I’m all alone here. What am I supposed to do?”

  Just a handful of weeks earlier his father had stood before the whole community in the Moth & Moon and declared their handfasting unbound. A legal dissolution of their marriage. Edwin doubted his mother even knew about it as the letter he had written was sent to his aunt’s home in Heron-on-the-Weir. It would have arrived long after his mother had left for Port Knot.

  “What about your sister, I thought you were living with her now?”

  “Sister? Hah! Violet’s no sister of mine. She was trying to poison me, Edwin! I saw her putting it into my tea. Trying to poison her own sister!”

  Edwin sighed. “I’m sure she wasn’t trying to poison you, Mum…”

  “What would you know about it? I had to leave, I had to come here to my boys, my lovely boys, they wouldn’t hurt me, not their granny, my good boys, but no, she wouldn’t let me see them, she kept them away from me, and now you’re here to take me away from them, so what choice did I have, hmm? What choice?”

  Edwin sat back and rubbed the back of his head. He didn’t feel equipped to cope with what was happening.

  “But she’ll listen to you, won’t she? She’ll let you see them, she’ll let me see them if you tell her to. If she knows you’re with me, she’ll let me see them.”

  “Even if she would, I won’t be here forever, Mum.”

  “What if you were?”

  “If I were what?”

  “Yes! What if you were? Here! With me! Stay with me Edwin, please! If
you’re here, I can…I feel calmer when you’re here. I feel better when you’re here.”

  Her shoulders dropped, her eyes softened, and her voice became less shrill.

  “What are you asking? I want to help you, but I can’t stay here. I’ve got the bakery, I’ve got Robin.”

  Her eyes began to fill.

  “Please,” she breathed. “Please, Edwin. I need you. I’ve seen what they do to people like me on this island. I’ve seen them take people away. Don’t let them take me, Edwin. Don’t let them.”

  She clasped his hands in hers as she spoke.

  “What do you mean, people like you?” Edwin asked.

  She tapped her head with a withered finger.

  “People with the animal,” she whispered.

  ***

  Robin and Duncan had made it barely thirty paces from Sylvia’s hut when they were stopped in their tracks by three men. Robin recognised the spindly man and the muscle-bound youth from the rally the day before. They were the ones who’d taken Sylvia Farriner away from the stage after her speech. The skinny man slipped a knife from his coat pocket and the hugely muscular youth by his side produced from his overcoat a gnarled cosh. The third man was the biggest by far and he held up his enormous fists, ready for action.

  Robin set Rowan down on the ground and ushered him behind.

  “Stay back there, boys,” he said as forcefully as he dared. He wasn’t used to talking to children and he was trying not to frighten them.

  He straightened his cap and prepared himself for a fight. He assumed these people to be the sort everyone had warned him about before coming here. Whereas Robin knew how to throw a punch, Duncan wasn’t a fighter, and if it came to it, Robin would have to hold the three attackers off while Duncan took the boys and ran.

  He sized up their leader, the oldest but largest of the three. A bull-necked, silver-bearded man, as tall and bulky as Robin himself though far meaner looking. He didn’t look like he’d need any help from his posse at all. Like his cohorts, the big man wore a battered cocked hat—one he kept low so it covered his eyes and made him hard to read. He was dressed in a heavy overcoat matching Robin’s own in style but the colour of claret. Robin watched as his fists clenched, his thick arms straining the wool of his coat, then suddenly the man’s shoulders dropped and he stepped forward.