by Garon Whited
“Oh, of course, of course. Yes. It’s another matter entirely.”
“I am all attention.”
“As you’ve noted—and others—there exists a small number of households who seem to regard their charges as something less than members of the family, so to speak.”
“Yes. I did note that. I’m pleased to hear others have, as well.”
“Indeed, sir, indeed we have. It is a very small number, but it’s those few rotten apples who seem to put one off the whole barrel.”
“I agree.”
“It has been put before the Council that we should examine the situation of all the children in such circumstances to determine if they are being properly cared for. A motion, which I may say, was put by Councilman Weatheral at your urging.”
“I didn’t urge it, but I can see where I might have put the idea in his head.”
“This leaves us, however, with a problem to solve before we even begin. If and when we discover a situation wherein matters are, so to speak, below par, it will do no good to withdraw the child or children from one home to potentially place them in another, equally distressing one. Since the more affluent of the local citizenry have already participated by taking in these children, we on the Council are concerned, perhaps without justification, about the less affluent being more prone to… ah…”
“Poorer people will be more likely to treat them as servants.”
“There’s nothing wrong with a child doing chores,” he stated. “In my own house, my children were learning the value of discipline in performing daily duties shortly after they could walk and talk. Which leaves us with the problem of determining whether any child is being mistreated.”
“I’ll leave that to you. I’m sure you can appoint someone to do a social service and take impromptu looks into their lives. But you didn’t come all the way up here to ask for my advice on this.”
“Very true. Very true. Yes. Well, Weatheral did mention your strong opinions regarding the welfare of children. He also made mention of a rather sweeping statement of yours. Something about any child on your doorstep needing to be fed would be fed.”
“I did say something very like that, yes. And before you go on, let me add that I haven’t counted the number of bedrooms in Applewood Hall, but I will. If I put bunk beds in them, I would be surprised if we can’t house at least forty children and the governing staff for them. Will that be enough space, do you think? Or should I start building more?”
“I say!”
“Is that a good exclamation or a bad exclamation?”
“I find myself quite startled, almost at a loss for words, sir. Do you mean to say you would actually build housing for children not your own?”
“Councilman, if bombs start dropping on England, I’ll happily rent a ship and relocate them to America at my own expense, and for the duration of the war. Anyone too young for the Army has no business being near a bunch of hostile bastards with guns. Pardon my language.”
“I feel quite the same, sir, quite the same! But I must be clear on this. You’re willing to take on additional wards?”
“Yes.”
“Even so many as a dozen or more?”
“Councilman, you tempt me to be offended. Did I not already state Applewood could take at least forty?”
“So you did, so you did. I withdraw the question, with my apologies.”
“When you have children in need, send them here. I’m quite serious about adding on to the estate, if need be, but I can’t cause new buildings to spring up overnight. Do you anticipate more than forty?”
“I certainly hope not. Although, there will likely be more coming to us, mostly from Liverpool, Newcastle, and Middlesbrough, I should think. Possibly even from as far away as Edinburgh and Glasgow, if the powers that be decree. I really couldn’t say.”
“I’ll take it under advisement.”
“You have my thanks, Master Kearne, and the thanks of the entire town council of Keswick.”
“You don’t need to thank me. I’m not doing it for you.”
He closed the satchel and placed it carefully on the floor beside his chair.
“Sir, with respect, I do need to thank you. I have worried on this matter ever since I was informed of the plan, but had no simple recourse. You have set my heart at ease.”
“It’s a pleasure to help,” I assured him, rising. He stood with me and we shook hands.
“If I may,” he added, “I should like to presume somewhat.”
“Presume away.”
“I’ve had very little experience with Americans. Would you describe yourself as typical?”
“No,” I said, thoughtfully. “No, I wouldn’t say that. Still, I’d like to think anyone would be outraged at this situation. No, I take that back. I’d like to think anyone would spend the effort to do something about the situation, rather than simply be outraged. Outrage without action is nothing but vanity.”
“Do you think they’ll support us in the war?”
“I suspect they’ll stand behind you as much as politics will allow, yes. Unless someone pricks their hide and draws blood, though, I doubt they’ll jump into the fighting.” I quirked a smile, careful to keep my teeth hidden. “You may expect quite a number of men to rush to England of their own accord as soon as the fighting starts in earnest, I think. They won’t wait for niceties like a formal declaration, but will charge in to help simply because it’s the right thing to do.”
“So they are quite like you.”
“No, I have no plans to fight. My place is with my electrical work, not on a battlefield. I may simply do a good deed here and there.”
“As you say, sir, as you say. It has been a pleasure to make your acquaintance, and I look forward to our next meeting.”
“Drop by anytime.”
Mary showed him out. I picked up the receiver, told Alice I was willing to take calls again, and settled in for a long day of planning.
Diogenes ran off a whole sheaf of blueprints for me. I don’t know if I’m going to need additional buildings or not, but he’s planned out an entire university campus based around the manor house, along with a building-by-building construction plan so we don’t have to build the whole thing at a stroke.
Mary is beside herself with mirth. I don’t know how she doesn’t explode from holding it all in. I don’t think it’s funny, although I will admit things snowballed a bit. But I fixed her. I put her on babysitting duty. She’s supervising the children as they relocate the iron-based stuff into what I’m calling the armory. It’s just a room we’re using for storage. There are six suits of armor, two dozen shields and swords, several maces, a couple of axes, even a pair of lances! All the martial decorations one might expect. Everything is supposedly being moved for the kids’ safety. In actuality, it’s for Trixie’s safety now that she’s interested in flittering about indoors. She says iron hurts even when she’s too close to it, so this will be a step in the right direction.
In theory, I have about two dozen teachers on their way to Applewood Hall. I see no reason to go to Liverpool or Newcastle or wherever to interview them. They can come to me and I’ll pay them for a day of travel. It’s also convenient to see how they get along with the four children already here.
After dinner—the children were all in semi-formal clothes for it—Mrs. Gillespie delicately broached the subject of her services and the difficulties in managing a family of six, counting Mary.
“Mrs. Gillespie, is there anyone in the village, or even in Keswick, who would make a good maid? Someone to take some of the work off your hands? I’ve no objection to asking the children for help, if you like—a little work is good for them, I think—but if you’re really in need, hire someone. I leave it entirely in your hands.”
“Not to argue, young master Duncan, but the household budget barely covers feeding four more mouths, what with prices going up all over and people talking about how the war will—”
“Mrs. Gillespie, you continue to amaze
me. Have I ever, even once, complained about the cost of maintaining this place?”
“Not even once,” she agreed, nodding and wringing her hands in her apron. “You’ve been well good, young master, and that’s a fact.”
“So I’m going to raise your wages by a pound a month and the house budget by ten. Then you’re going to go hire a housemaid to help—I’ll pay her separately from the budget.” Whatever wage Mrs. Gillespie negotiated for the new maid, I resolved to raise it. “What else do you need?”
“Young master, if I didn’t know better, I’d swear you turned lead to gold!”
“Better than that, Mrs. Gillespie. I turn electricity into money. Vacuum tubes—excuse me, ‘valves’—are the coming thing. I have second sight, and I can see these are the future.”
“I shouldn’t wonder,” she nodded, looking serious.
“Radio already carries pictures—television. You’ll see the day when there’s a television receiver in every home. I’m certain of it. Electrical components will be a key industry, you mark my words.”
“Just as you say, young master.”
“What else can I do for you?”
“Nothing a’tall, young master, and that’s a fact.”
“Good to hear.”
After sunset, Mary and I availed ourselves of the shower in my private quarters. I reflected how I would need a bigger boiler to feed hot water to the other bathrooms. They might all be in regular use, soon. And I might as well order some bunk beds before we needed them…
“Hey, Doctor Preoccupied.”
“Yes, dear?”
“You got me in this shower with the promise of an adventure. You don’t want anyone to hear me screaming and I don’t see a ball gag, so it’s not that sort of adventure. What did you have in mind?”
“It occurred to me the good councilman… uh, Fillmore, that was his name. He had some concerns about finding the kids who were in difficult circumstances due to the quality of their care, rather than the capacity of the household.”
“We’re in England. You can use simple English.”
“Easy for you to say,” I muttered. “What I mean is, it’s one thing for a city kid to suddenly find himself using an outhouse. Hardships of war and all that. It’s another thing entirely to find three kids crammed in one bed, forced to work sixty hours a week, and denied shoes to keep them from running away.”
“But workhouses and orphanages do stuff like that, don’t they?”
“They’re a social institution and I wouldn’t dream of interfering, no matter how deeply my heart demands drastic and possibly bloody reforms. I might be smoldering about it, but it’s their country, their kids. This wholesale migration and evacuation is also their business. Again, I’m not stopping it. I’m not even arguing against it because there is no way to argue against it. Children have no business near bomb targets. But the personal, individual cruelty caused by individual, cruel persons is something within what I feel are my scope and my authority.”
“Oh, I love it when you talk like that! You’re going to do something all dark and monstery, aren’t you?”
“We are, I hope.”
“Even better! Like what?”
“I plan to go through the villages and town, roam around in the night, listen for the sounds of crying children, sniff the air for the smell of blood, and generally see if we can find anyone suitably miserable.”
“And then we kill someone?”
“No. Well, maybe. I had in mind confirming the misery and dropping an anonymous note to the council.”
“That’s not an adventure!”
“…and possibly stealing the miserable child, if circumstances warrant.”
“I—” she began, and broke off. “I’ve never stolen a kid before.”
“Now’s your chance to add it to the resumé.”
“Oh, all right. But only because you never take me anywhere.”
“Pick a place,” I suggested. “Pick a world, in fact.”
“That’s your job. It’s a gender thing.”
“Really?”
“Well,” she said, thoughtfully. “Sort of. In our case, I think I’d just like you to pretend to take an interest in taking me out somewhere.”
“Have I been neglectful?”
“I wouldn’t say that. Maybe a little preoccupied. Okay, maybe a little neglectful. I’d like to feel I’m still interesting to you.”
“You are. I’ll give some thought to a date night.”
“About bloody time.”
We took the car down to the village of Millbeck. I didn’t hear or smell anything on the drive through, so we parked near the pub. I extended tendrils, uncoiling them like invisible antennae of psychic energy. It was like listening to the psychic whispers of the world around me, but it was also a feeling, like touching the wind as it flowed through my dark spiderweb of invisible forces. There were emotions and thoughts of all sorts, everywhere, but none of them had the proper timbre of sadness. There was sadness aplenty, just as there was misery and pain. None of it whispered to me of a child’s despair.
We repeated our performance in Applethwaite village, then in Keswick town. Applethwaite had a few candidates, so we traced them to their dwellings and I jotted down the addresses. Keswick had more, but about in proportion to the greater population.
In Keswick, however, I also found a particular bonanza of misery, pain, and fear. Two brothers, Alex and Michael, were aged six and nine. After a bit of investigation—highly illegal on my part, but probable cause and the right to privacy are tricky things—I discovered evidence as to why Alex and Michael were in such a terrible state.
The kindly older gentleman who took them in was fond of children. Extremely fond of children, particularly young boys.
It is possible I overreacted. I concede I may have done so. I have no regrets.
Mary drained vitality from the exhausted little boys and successfully stole them from their owner. With the little ones safely removed from what was about to be ground zero, I smashed down the door and walked in.
Is it still a bloodbath if there’s not a drop of blood left behind? I mean, for me, yes. If I splatter blood on every surface, it all crawls over to me and soaks into my skin. But is it still a bloodbath if I don’t leave any? It’s gruesome, perhaps, and certainly messy. There are lots of fluids in the human body besides blood. The mess, however, isn’t a bloody mess, so does it count?
I searched for a bit and found some pointy metal rods in the kitchen. Kebab skewers, maybe. My knowledge of the kitchen doesn’t venture far from the microwave oven. But with a little cracking of the skull in the back, they were long enough to use. I drove them through the eyesockets and out the back of the severed head, nailing it to the wall. I then stuck the eyeballs on the forward ends of the skewers, giving the head a rather startled, pop-eyed look. The rest of the body parts I left wherever they fell.
As I left, I tore off the number plate of the house. Theatrics go better with forethought and planning.
Mary drove while I minded her prizes. Fortunately, she felt no need to keep them. It’s all about the thrill of the theft for her. She enjoyed stealing them without even raising an alarm.
After some magical tracking and tracing, I found Councilman Weatheral’s house and had Mary stop the car around the corner.
I’m not sure the councilman will believe his butler or footman or whatever. The guy opened the door with a put-upon air and nearly dislocated his jaw by dropping it.
To be fair, I was wearing my magic cloak and it was in full Lovecraft mode. It covered me in a completely featureless black, as well as flowing upward behind me and rippling strangely. To him, some of the dark between the stars leaked from the night sky to drip on the doorstep.
I put my two unconscious kids down on the porch before I handed the house number plate to the servant.
“Carter? Who the devil is calling at this hour?” someone demanded from within. It sounded like the councilman himself. Carter gathered up his ja
w and turned to answer.
“I—I think it possible, sir.”
As he glanced away, I vanished. It’s easy when no one is watching. I simply move extraordinarily fast. Plus, I wear certain enchanted items to negate some of my difficulties where vector calculations meet cold, unpleasant reality. I extended tendrils through my feet, used them to grip large chunks of ground, and accelerated like a runner coming out of the blocks—on fast-forward.
Once back in the car, we drove away, circled around, and returned to Applewood Hall.
Mary was delighted with our little caper, but wasn’t entirely keen on sticking around for the whole school thing. I didn’t blame her.
“This might be a fantastic time to try for the Crown Jewels,” I suggested.
“I’d feel bad doing it during the war.”
“Reasonable,” I agreed. “Not exactly fair, is it?”
“Not at all. I’m glad you’re finally coming out of your shell, though.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean you’re finally starting to associate with people. Socially, I mean.”
“I talk to people all the time.”
“Name three.”
“Uh… You, Diogenes, and Trixie.”
“Anyone else?”
“Refugees in Apocalyptica?”
“Diogenes talks to them. You deal with requests he’s not certain about. I’m not sure you’ve said two words to any of them since they arrived. Aside from the kid. Patricia. You don’t talk to her too much, either.”
“Um. Hmm.”
“See what I mean? You’re taking an interest, and I’m glad.”
“Why?”
“Because you should. Usually, I’m the one who drags your reluctant undead ass off to do something fun. You humor me—don’t think I don’t know it!—and have as good a time as you can. Then it’s right back to being alone.”
“I’m not lonely.”
“I didn’t say you were. I said you were alone. I think you don’t want to risk being suckered into caring about anyone new.”
“Tymara is new.”
“She’s your great-granddaughter. She doesn’t count. You’re avoiding, what is it, optional people. I think you’re afraid to open up and be a nice guy.”
