The Corn

by Barbara Gaskell Denvil

  I stared. “You’ve heard of him?”

  “Go-Betweens goffers I call ‘em, or Finders some says, with mighty wary prodding as to who trusts who. Fixers, Finders, Gofers – tis all the same – like the gent what you says comes a visiting to you. Most of them ain’t nice folk, but they’s part o’ my business. When I meets them, ‘tis after a fair time of setting up. I don’t ask no questions, ‘cept about the job. They don’t ask no questions neither. If they did, I’d tell them to get lost mighty quick. In my game, you can end up on the gallows quicker than spit. I don’t take no risks.”

  I asked, surprised, if he’d met him. “Surely,” Symon told me. “Just the once. The bugger worked fer me once, but I sent him orff, cos he were a bastard. So don’t touch the pig-fucker, lass, pardon the language. You waits fer me. Anovver ten-day and I promise to be out on the streets agin, and protect you, Feep, and them lads downstairs. And if you likes, I shall protect yer Jak as well.”

  I had to kiss his cheek, even though it was very, very grubby and his breath smelled of dysentery.

  When I staggered home, Feep was waiting with the cup of wine that I most definitely needed. I told him all about everything as usual, and he sat at my feet, his cheek leaning against my leg. He was content. “I trusts Symon,” he said. “If he says it, then he does it. So it won’t be too long, and I reckon he’ll be here at the door wiv a mighty big grin and a big mug o’ ale.”

  “And you can send that man Bryte away if he comes again,” I said, smiling. “You were right about him all the time. Symon says he’s a bad man.”

  I couldn’t see Feep’s face, but I was quite sure he was wearing a smug smile.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “I’m making friends,” I told my bedchamber window and the trickles of silver drizzle sliding down the outside of the thin translucent bone., “But I’m making enemies too.” The sky outside was a misty haze of rain. But the drizzle was clearly inspired, and within minutes it had become sleet. I could hear the pitter-patter of falling drops on the Corn, soon turning to the pelting rush of continuous water on water. “If I’m not careful, the enemies will outnumber the friends. First there’s Feep, and close behind there’s Symon. There’s Clara and Clova, the two sisters who are my best and sweetest customers, and there’s Jesha, my father’s poor mistress. Is she a real friend? I’m not sure. But I’m sure of my enemies. There’s Bembitt. He’s an absolute bastard, pardon the language Symon dear. There’s Kallivan, the pale man. There’s Errin, the horrible doctor from the palace. And now I think there’s Bryte, who will probably be cross when I tell him no more.”

  I often spoke to the sky. Feep answered back, and the sky didn’t.

  But talking to Symon had been such a relief, and a veil of hopeful contentment had drifted back, as if trusting Symon had made everything better. At least, once he got out of that vile place, I hoped he would. A ten-day, he’d said. That was three days ago. Seven to go. Not much.

  When Bryte arrived two days later, I was determined to be strong. But he walked in with a great big smile and a bunch of wildflowers he must have picked himself from further up the riverbanks. Laying them on my window-counter, he turned to me and spoke at once before I could shoo him out.

  “Mistress Freia, you’re looking wonderful today,” he said in a hurried burble. “Last time I came, I found you out, and your young assistant sent me away like a naughty puppy.” He laughed, good natured. “I take it the lad doesn’t approve of me. Well, I’m not surprised, and it’s wonderful that he watches over you.”

  I managed to get a word in. “I’m sorry,” I said, looking straight back at him, “and I thank you for the flowers, which is very kind and thoughtful of you,” I was losing my way already, “but, that is, I really can’t accept your visits anymore. You see,” although I thought he probably didn’t, “I have no intention of marrying. Ever. Well, not for some years, anyway. And although you haven’t asked me, so I must seem very forward, but I want you to know that. Just in case.”

  He should have laughed at me and walked out, but instead, he came closer, took my hand in his, and kissed two fingers before I managed to pull away. “My dear Freia,” he said, “you are quite right to warn me since I had every intention of asking you to be my wife one day. And I respect your refusal. But let us at least be friends. And friends can help each other, admire each other, and surely go walking together.”

  Can they? But I walked with Feep. Alright, he was almost young enough to be my son. I would walk with Symon once he was released, but he was old enough to be my father. So I nodded. “Yes, and thank you,” I managed. “But not too often, or people will certainly think we’re more than friends.”

  He paused, then leaned over the counter, smiling even more eagerly. His teeth looked rather yellow, but at least they were all there. He could have been a pleasant looking man, but his eyebrows rushed across his face like a troop of stray dogs escaping from a Catcher. Hairy, even shaggy, there was one eyebrow that didn’t bother to stop and think over the top of his nose. Indeed, the nose itself was not an aid to beauty, for it was a little too long and ended in a frozen point, quite sharp, like a sword tipped poker.

  His voice, however, was kindly, and what he said was always kindly too. “There’s a Flame Festival tomorrow on the south side of the Corn,” he told me. Nice things again. “Will you come with me? I’ll take you over and show you everything. It will be one of the best days of your life, I can promise. And just as two friends, sharing some fun.” He raised that one bush of an eyebrow at me. “It would please me greatly, mistress, and I know you would enjoy it.”

  Oh, botheration, and thank goodness Feep wasn’t in the shop listening. “What time?” I asked.

  “I shall come for you at midday,” he said, and marched cheerfully outside.

  So I hadn’t been strong at all. But it did occur to me that even if this man was a criminal ‘Finder,” he was still polite and friendly, and Symon himself was chief gang leader, and therefore far, far worse. It seemed I was going to end up with gangster friends after all.

  I lied to Feep, and it was the very first time. That evening snuggled around the little fire, me in my big cosy fire and Feep curled on the cushioned stool at my feet, I said, “by the way, Feep, I’m going out tomorrow. There’s some sort of festival on the other side of the Corn. I doubt we’ll have a single customer with that going on, almost in sight from the banks. We need a holiday, I believe. I intend going on my own.”

  “Sounds like proper good fun,” Feep looked up at me. “You minds if I comes too?” I had a horrible feeling he’d say that, and I felt even more guilty.

  “I’m terribly sorry, Feep,” I said, “but I want you to go and check on the Molly House. Those problems with the other mob-boss are worrying me.”

  “Squimber?”

  I nodded. “So I just want you to go there and make sure they haven’t been burned down or anything. Then,” and I managed a big smile,” you’ll be halfway over the Corn anyway, so get a wherry the rest of the way, and come over to the festival. We might see each other.” I was hoping we wouldn’t. But I wasn’t in charge of Destiny’s Wheel so I could only hope for the best.

  Feep seemed happy enough with this arrangement, but I sensed his surprise. However, I was looking forward to the day out, something quite different from my usual working and worrying day and banished any doubts about Bryte. I was partially sorry, in spite of this, that Feep did not accompany me, and told him. “Oh, no matter,” Feep finally snorted. “I seen it all afore.”

  My sense of guilt merged with my ridiculous pleasure at the flattery. But we’d be in public and nothing terrible could happen. Someone unusual did attend however, someone who had certainly never attended a joust in her life before. That was me. I was so excited, I barely understood what was going on as I was flushed breathless by the swerve and press of the huge snorting horses so close, the running of the pages and the calling of the grooms, bugles, trumpets, shouting, swearing, steaming horse dung at my fe
et, the sudden hauteur of a knight striding Between the tents in his shining armour and the flick of his velvet cloak; – “Here boy, clean this up and quick,” – the smells, colours, jostle, scuffle and clash, swinging tabards and the crack of banners blown back against their posts. It was a cold morning and the wind whipped up the coats of arms, tossing the horses’ ribbon-plaited manes and the knights’ plumes, their visors up, eyes squinting.

  Then the sudden vibration of canter between the lists. Metal on metal, metal on wood, metal on bone. The Southern parade grounds rang with fevered impatience. Each knight’s pavilion was decorated in mock grandeur, and since the Butler faction made the greatest play, it was all pointedly in honour of the past queen, mother of King Ram, the Lady Via and once the Lady Butler from that grand eastern family, now. prominent within the ecclesiastical hierarchy. Her uncle glowed, glorious in ermine and white velvet, a magnificent spectacle had the sun only shone more kindly. But even under a sullen sky, he sparkled as he retired to his dark robed pavilion – a white velvet knight ducking into his black velvet cave.

  The stallions galloped between the lists, hooves into raked earth and kicking up a haze of dust. Their long plaited tails flicked, trailing the entwined ribbons while through the swirling haze the swords rang out, faces hidden within their helms, but the sneering cry of insult and challenge ringing clear and loud.

  For a moment, I couldn’t see, and grabbed Bryte’s arm. The dust rose and even steel was hidden. Then a sword was raised high, I heard the squeal, and one armoured knight tumbled backwards from his mount. The crowd clapped. I wasn’t clapping. I’d seen dead men before, I’d watched men die, but killing for entertainment made me cringe.

  As the swirling dirt sank back, I saw that the man wasn’t dead. He stumbled up, grinning, helm gone, tin sword bent. Some cheered him, others taunted, and the failed knight limped off. His horse followed, snorting with derision.

  I quickly let go of Bryte and moved away. There were other less quarrelsome entertainments to watch.

  There was music, and people were dancing. Bryte tried to take me in his arms, but I shook my head. “I can’t dance,” I told him.

  “I’ll teach you.”

  But I still shook my head. I wasn’t going to willingly step into this man’s embrace. “I like watching,” I mumbled. “Choose another girl.” He just smiled, so I marched over to the cluster of other stalls behind the musicians’ raised platform, where jugglers and fire eaters were performing, a young girl singing and trying to keep in tune with the minstrels, cups of wine and ale sold with tiny pastries, bowls of nuts, and fruit. Bryte bought me a little creamy pastry and a cup of red wine. I took both and thanked him, but he had proved another point as far as I was concerned. I much preferred hippocras or white wine, and savoury pastries rather than sweet ones. Bryte was evidently not a man who bothered to discover, or remember, his lady’s tastes.

  But I ate and I drank, and the day was pleasant in spite of the chill. When my host showed me home, a wherry right across the whole width of the Corn and a blast of icy wind through its centre, I thanked him but did not invite him in. The shop was shut, and Feep was nowhere I could see, so Bryte with a grimace of disgruntled disappointment, walked off down the twilit road.

  Feep staggered home two hours later, by which time I was a little worried. I was even more worried when I saw him, for his face was smeared with blood.

  “Tis only a snout bleed,” he informed me, flopping down beside the fire I had lit against the cold.

  “You were punched in the nose?”

  “Tis Squimber,” Feep sighed. “He done took over, the bastard. We all did as we could wiv kicking the bugger and shoving knives where his guts is. But well padded, he were, and I don’t reckon he felt a bloody thing. He chucked a few stones and I got one in me nosh, but I ain’t really hurt. I’s more worrited ‘bout Squimber.”

  I gave him a cup of ale and a large beef pie with no silly goat’s cream. “What will happen?” I wasn’t sure when Symon might return, and in the meantime I couldn’t imagine I could be much help myself.

  “I reckon t’will be Symon as deals wiv it,” Feep said, which was fairly obvious. “But still, it ain’t nice. Fer a start, them boys won’t see none o’ the coin they makes. Fer anovver, Squimber will go pimping, I reckon, and pick up nasty pig-swill to bring back, wot’ll hurt the boys, and demand too much. And Squimber thrashes them as don’t obey. “

  There were half-formed tears in my eyes. “That whole place ought to be closed down. Burned down perhaps. It’s vile.”

  But now it was Feep shaking his head with the small drip of nasal blood spinning out into the little flames. “Don’t be daft, mistress,” he told me. “We’s all orphings, every one o’ them lads too. Like Symon was. Living above, he done helped fer years, wiv doctors and blankets and ale and grub. When we grows up, most joins Symon in the gangs. Well – wot else is there? No chance o’ living wivvout a crumb nor a penny. Wot else was we supposed to learn? Thieving? Be that better than being fucked. Most of the old men is not too bad and pays well.”

  Now I really was in tears. “We need a new king. A king to change things and make Eden – kind.”

  I was crying and Feep was laughing. “No chance, missus,” he cackled at me. “You wants wot them stooped priests tells us? No way. I ain’t gonna suspect no paradise. Coming ter you – well, that were the best thing that ever happened. We all gets a bit o’ luck sometimes, and tis bad luck the next.”

  Having already made up my mind during Feep’s discussion, and having washed his face, told him to lie down with his head tipped back, and finally put him to bed, I stayed up for some time making my plans. I didn’t know whether to forge another appointment to go and visit Symon or try to talk to this foul brute Squimber myself. Eventually, I made up my mind and chose the more stupid and more courageous option.

  The following morning the bitter wind down the river had turned to a gale and every open door, every hanging curtain, every flag and every banner was slamming back against its window or wall. The high tide had brought flooding waves and the crests of flying spray were turning to solid hail. “Shit,” I said, and didn’t beg Feep’s pardon for my bad language. “Will the wherries be out on a day like this?”

  “Some will.” Feep was collecting our cloaks, both fur-lined and both hooded. At least we’d be a little sheltered. Standing on the small wooden landing stage on the Corn bank opposite my home, we watched the graceless wobble of the few wherries with the courage to keep working. I tried waving at several, but a woman and child probably didn’t seem like the ideal customers to the boatmen.

  “We could jump,” Feep said, looking up at me from with the fluff of fur-lined hood.

  I stared out across the river. There were so many islands built, it was hard to see how many, but I guessed a hundred. The one I knew to hold the Molly House, which stood way out in the centre and well to my left, was a considerable way off. “Are you mad?” I demanded.

  “Well, if I were, I reckon I wouldn’t know anyways,” Feep pointed out., “but tis possible ter jump from one and t’ovver if you knows the way. Wot I does.”

  Wearing long skirts and heavy-soled shoes didn’t suggest any easy athletic prowess. “How long would it take?”

  “Dunno. I done it afore,” Feep answered. “But I doesn’t go counting them minutes, does I?”

  Even the most determined wherrymen seemed to have abandoned their courage, and not a single boat for hire passed our position, so I eventually, having already decided it was me that was mad, not Feep, nodded and said I try it. “If I drown,” I added, somewhat unnecessarily, “Tell Symon I tried, and I’m sorry, and he can have his shop back and close the Molly House.”

  Further along the bank nearer the rail bridge, was another landing stage, more like a pier, which extended further out, and here we stopped. It was already partially underwater, but its stubby ending was very close to a small island protruding from the waves. “First’un,” said Feep, and jumped. I was
impressed. I was pleased too, because my longer legs managed one large stride, and we both stood on new land. The scrunch of pebbles and mud beneath our feet was unpleasant but reassuring. Two small buildings had been erected in the tiny island’s raised centre. “Them’s beauty shops fer ladies,” Feep explained. “Not them royal ones wot live at court, but fer them as has a little coin and wants to look better than they is.”

  The next island was considerably larger, and the jump between was larger too. I took a deep breath and was almost certain I’d fall and might even drown. Feep moved back and then ran forwards, leaping into the air like a little bird. On the bank of the next island, he stood there, hands out, and I followed his example. He caught me, lovely boy, and I clambered up onto the place he called ‘The Fancy Bonnet’ which was clearly a tavern. It was too early in the day for this to open but the aproned and very stout woman who was trying to sweep the dirty seep of the Corn from her front step, seemed unconcerned that we had bounced onto her island. “Morning,” she said as we hurried past.

  The gap to the next island was the largest, and I truly did flop into the water when I tried to jump it, but only my boots and my hems got wet. Once again, Feep caught both my hands and dragged me up onto the steps of Banking House, where loans were made to those stupid enough to put themselves in the Banker’s hands. But not only was it an imposing building, and an imposing island, it also had a small bridge leading to the next island, very tiny, which Feep told me housed the bankers themselves in some luxury, three sumptuous cottages stood indeed, but we hurried past. There was another little bridge, and we crossed that easily., even though the rising waters were now not far below.