The Grimoire of Kensington Market

by Lauren B. Davis

  “Go on!” Beth guffawed so loudly the pigeons fluttered in their cages.

  “They respect you. And you can read now, and you have these books.” She picked up one of the primers. “You even have books on how to teach reading. Look, the lesson plans are all set out for you, all you’d have to do is follow them.”

  Beth took the book but didn’t open it. “I’m no teacher. You should teach the brats. Make yourself useful.”

  Oso rolled onto her back, her paws held limply in the air, and Beth absently rubbed her belly.

  “Beth, I have to go. I have to find Kyle and I think you want to help me.”

  “What I want, I get and what I get, I keep.”

  “But every hour that passes is another hour in which I might lose him.”

  Beth wouldn’t look at her. “I had enough to deal with when he disappeared. If I were to let you go, too, Winnie might be angry enough to rethink making me her heir.”

  Desperation was a sharp-clawed ferret in Maggie’s belly. “Look around this room.” The wave of her hand encompassed the once-griseous window now lucent; the once-malodorous bedding now fragrant with lavender; the once-shit-spattered pigeon cages now polished; even Beth herself, skin shining, eyes bright with knowledge. “It’s your reading that’s done this, not me. And the more people you teach to read, the more reading you do, the more the magic will take root and spread. Consider this. With books you have everything. You have the whole wide world. You could learn any number of skills, you and everyone else here. You wouldn’t have to rely on robbing people, which you must admit is a fairly uncertain living.”

  “Hey now, we’re good at what we do. You’ve seen the larder.”

  “If you don’t mind living alone in the forest in a broken-down ruin of a once-glorious hall.”

  “Is a bit drafty.”

  “Not to mention uncomfortable and smelly. When horrible weather sets in people must get sick.”

  “Lost two of the kids a couple of winters back.” She ran her hands over the dry, sunlit stone. “Better now, though.” She stood. “Stay here.”

  In her captor’s absence, Maggie took stock of the room. While its condition was an improvement on what it had been, she really had no way of knowing if it was a glamour that would fade away in time. What was the quality of magic, in this place or any other? Perhaps it depends on faith, or work, or both.

  Beth returned. “Seems to be just this room for now. But much as I hate to admit it, I think you might be right. It feels so,” she tapped her chest with her fist, “in here, in my bones. But I only got the books in this trunk and most of them are just stories. If we’re going to learn things – building and trades and so on – we’ll need more than that.”

  “You can learn a lot from stories, but I see what you mean.” Maggie thought. “There must be a town nearby. Waterton, you said, right? Surely if there are teachers, there are booksellers. You can buy more books.”

  “As though anyone’s gonna do business with the Castoffs.”

  “They might if you didn’t rob everyone you met.” Maggie raised her palms in the air by her shoulders. “I’m just saying.”

  Beth began pacing. “We Castoffs are who we are and that’s the end of it.” She began talking, as though to herself. “If I let you go, Winnie’ll have my hide.” She whipped the knives from her belt. “Then again, maybe it’s time Winnie figured out I ain’t no kid,” she slashed the knives back and forth, “and she don’t get to make all the decisions.” She crouched and made jabbing motions. Oso slunk farther into a corner and Maggie kept her arm around Badger. “I can read, can’t I? I can learn things, and that’s all mine. I made the magic.” She swung round to Maggie. “You kept your word.” The blades made a whispering sound as Beth sheathed them. “I’ll help you,” she said.

  Before Maggie realized she was going to do it, she launched herself across the room, threw her arms around Beth and kissed her.

  “Get off, get off,” said Beth.

  * * *

  THEY ATE THEIR EVENING MEAL OF RABBIT STEW, BUT this time with the addition of a smoked ham Beth insisted be brought from the larder. The fire was smoky and stung the eyes. The children fretted and cried. One of the little girls, no more than seven, wandered between the adults whining and wiping her snotty nose on her sleeve. When she neared Brenda, the woman reached out and pinched the child cruelly, making her shriek. The child ran to the shadows, snivelling. A moment or two later Beth stood up, dropped her bowl and spoon in a bucket and walked over to Brenda. She reached down and pinched her sister on the tender skin under her upper arm. Brenda’s face went white as she struggled not to give Beth the satisfaction of hearing her cry out. The women’s eyes locked. Beth’s arm trembled with effort. Even through the sweater Brenda wore, it must have been like having your skin caught in a vise. At last Brenda shrieked and kicked until Beth let go.

  “What was that for?” she screamed.

  “Next time you feel like pinching someone, pinch me, why don’t you?” Beth went back to her stool beside Maggie and sat down. “Goddamn bullies around here, the bunch of you.”

  Winnie took a long swig from her wineskin and then laughed. “What, had yourself a bath, put on some clean clothes and think you’re special? Since when do you give a fart there, missy?”

  “Since now. Time we stopped acting like a bunch of feral cats,” said Beth.

  “That so? That your opinion, is it?” said Winnie, who wasn’t laughing any longer.

  “It is, as a matter of fact. I’ve had it up to here, and I ain’t gonna stand for it no more. You all better get used to it.” She stood with her feet wide apart, like a tree deeply rooted. “I been doing some thinking, that’s right, some thinking. And I do believe there’ll be changes coming.” She hefted her pants. “I’m gonna teach you all to read.”

  This was met with gales of laughter.

  “Get the book,” Beth said to Maggie, who ran, snatched up the book of fairy tales and brought it to her.

  Beth began to read. “‘There was once upon a time a husbandman who had three sons. He had no property to bequeath to them, and no means of putting them in the way of getting a living.’”

  The room grew quiet. Then Winnie said, “How’d you learn it?”

  Maggie held her breath. If Beth spoke her name it would be another reason to keep her captive.

  Beth said, “I just learned is all. I’ve been studying. And,” she drew herself up, “it’s brought magic.” Amidst a certain amount of derisive snorting, which died away as she spoke, she described the changes to her room, and to her person. Blossom and Brenda ran to peek behind Beth’s curtain and when they affirmed that indeed, it wasn’t the room it had been, the others crowded round to see.

  “This come from reading?” Brenda asked. “From reading a book?”

  “I want new clothes, too,” said Betty.

  “Then you must earn them by learning.” Beth dangled her fingers on the hilt of her knives. “And I’m the one’s got that knowledge.”

  Beth stared at her mother with her chin thrust out. Winnie opened her mouth and perhaps she saw something in her daughter’s face, or in the casual way Beth rested her hand on the knives in her belt, but she closed her mouth. She turned away from Beth and busied herself with something in the bottom of her bowl. “Tim’ll be back soon, you know,” she said.

  “Let him come,” said Beth with a small, thin smile. “If he’s good I’ll even teach him.”

  Winnie stood and arched her back, her hand on her sacrum. “Magic,” she snorted. “Who’s to say you just haven’t been cleaning?” She held her hand up to silence her daughter. “I’m stiff as a board and getting too old to be spending my remaining days doing nothing but herding you bunch of wildcats.” Her back cracked and she bent side to side. “Might just be time I let the younger generation take the reins. Yo
u think you can do better? Let’s see you try.” She spat on the ground. “Disappointments, every last one of you. You and Tim can sort it as far as I’m concerned.” Winnie wiped her hands on her skirt and said, “Go on, go to bed, before I do something I regret.”

  Beth stepped toward her mother, her hands in fists, and for a moment Maggie thought the two would come to blows, but Winnie turned her back, and Beth merely huffed and relaxed her fingers. Beth half turned to Maggie and, with a jerk of her chin, drew Maggie’s attention to the pot hanging from the tripod over the cooking fire. It gleamed, the copper radiating like a miniature sun. Maggie grinned. Beth told her to go back to the room and take Badger with her; she was going to check on the hogs.

  In Beth’s room, Maggie sat on the step (on a now-plump pale yellow pillow) under the window. Beyond the clear panes, the stars looked so familiar and yet so utterly strange. The apple tree in the neglected orchard reminded her of home.

  A few minutes later, Oso scampered through the curtain door and ran to Maggie, wriggling, nuzzling and pawing at her. “Good girl, stop it now.” Badger joined in and it took a moment to get the dogs settled down. Oso sat for a second and then jumped up and whined, standing at the doorway.

  “You want me to come?”

  Oso play-bowed, tail wagging.

  “Shush, then, shush. All right.” Instinct told Maggie she should take her pack. She also had to avoid people and so wouldn’t go out by the door. She called Oso to her, opened the window, heaved Badger up and out, then Oso, and then jumped down herself. If she was wrong she’d have a hell of a time explaining it to Beth, but she hoped it wouldn’t come to that. She and Badger followed Oso to a large pigsty enclosed by a fence. Beth sat on the topmost rail, a long pole in her hand. Maggie could make out four enormous hogs. Three lay near a slop trough. The eyes of one glinted in the dark. The other rooted in the earth near Beth. He flicked his tail and ears. Beth turned to Maggie as she approached.

  “I think Oso wanted us to come with her,” said Maggie.

  Beth grunted. “That dog might amount to something after all.” She prodded the hog at her feet with the pole and the beast grunted. “I come out here to think sometimes. The hogs are peaceful creatures.”

  Beth swung her legs to the open side of the fence and jumped down. She propped the pole up on the fence and rubbed the owl on her cheek with her thumb. “You see this owl, right? When I was a little girl Winnie’s aunt, who saw things, said she saw this in me. Wisdom, she said. And secrets. And death. Well, I’ve had my share of some more’n others. But until you came,” she pointed her thumb at Maggie, “I wouldn’t rightly say I had much wisdom. This reading business, I don’t know how you managed it, since I’ve been looking at those letters for years and getting nothing back but sore eyes. Some magic underpinning it all, I’m sure. Yes, you might well blush. Keep your own counsel, but answer me this, and mind well your answer – does it wear off?”

  “I honestly don’t know. But I don’t think so. It seems to be spreading, don’t you think? Even into the hall. I believe if you keep reading, and if you teach others to do the same, the magic will grow.”

  Beth’s gaze on her was steady, examining, probing, more like a dissection than query. It was entirely possible the magic was working on an even deeper level. Wisdom. Perception.

  Beth blinked at last and nodded. “I agree. I made a decision – yes, I’m going to teach the little ones.”

  “They might not learn as quickly as you. You’ll have to have patience.”

  “They’ll learn. And when they do things might be different. In time.”

  “I’m glad for you, for you all. But what does that mean for me?”

  “Speaking of patience, you might be better at it yourself.”

  “Fair enough,” said Maggie.

  “It means I owe you, and I pay my debts.” She tucked her thumbs over her knife hilts. “I expect you should be on your way.”

  “Thank you,” said Maggie, quickly. “Will you get in much trouble?”

  “I’d like to see anyone try and give me trouble. Winnie’s ready to step back, that’s clear or she wouldn’t have let me get this far. She knows what’s up. She’s a crafty old biddy. She’ll back me. Tim’ll fall into line and that’ll be that, or it won’t,” she tapped her knife with her thumb, “and then we’ll have a little fun.” Beth took a piece of jerky from her pocket and fed it to Badger. “This kindness thing is getting to be a habit. I just hope it won’t be a bad one. All right, I see it comes as no surprise to you, given as how you’ve brought your pack, but if you’re going, we best get on with it.”

  Maggie hugged her. “You won’t regret it.”

  Beth led them to a track between the sty and another shed. The track led steeply down and even in the light of the full moon (was the moon always full here?) one had to take care not to slip. As the path descended, the ground rose on either side until they were walking through a narrow canyon between rock walls. Maggie grabbed the moss growing on the stone to keep her footing as the shale shifted beneath her feet.

  Then, quite suddenly, the walls ended, and they stood in front of a mirror-calm lake. The moon’s light was a silver streak along the surface. A fish jumped and the circles seemed to flow outward forever. It was a pebble beach, and behind them the great rock face loomed. Tied off to a large boulder was a boat. The bow curved up and over, reminiscent of a stem, and indeed there were two smaller curves, like sprouts, so that the entire boat looked like an overturned, deeply concave leaf. From the two sprouts hung lanterns.

  “That’s the prettiest boat I’ve ever seen,” said Maggie.

  “It’s a nice little thing, ain’t it?” Beth lit the lanterns. The flames’ reflection twinkled on the water.

  “Did you build it?”

  “I might have,” said Beth. “Bit of a hobby.”

  Maggie whistled through her teeth. “You’ve a real talent. I have a friend who knows boats, and he’d love this.” She pictured Alvin running his hand over the gunwale from bow to transom, clucking his tongue and saying, Oh, yes, a handsome piece of work. Look at the hull on her, deep and smooth as can be. Rudder strong and true. “He’d say, ‘Goddamn, woman, I am impressed!’” Maggie laughed, thinking of him, and there was a pang in her heart.

  Beth beamed. “Ah, just put it together from scraps and such.”

  High up, about halfway on the cliff ledge, something moved. A determined tree had taken root in a crevice and a large raven flapped its wings as it settled on a branch, making the whole thing shake precariously. It sharpened its beak on the wood.

  “Right, I’ve wasted enough time on you.” Beth fumbled in her pants pocket and then pulled out a silver bird hair clip. “Might as well have this back; it’s not like I’m going to wear it.”

  Maggie took Beth’s hand in hers and closed the woman’s calloused fingers around the small figure. “I’d be honoured if you’d keep it. Perhaps if you don’t want to wear it yourself, you’ll find someone you want to give it to one day.”

  Beth snorted, but pocketed it. “Well, take the boat and keep straight with the moon-river path, as we call it.” Her face showed shadows of past sorrows. “That’s the way he went. I think you’re a fool for going after him, but you’re right you can’t stay here and there’s no going back, as you’ve found. Forward’s all there is.”

  “I’m sorry to take your boat, Beth,” Maggie said.

  “Don’t be. Leave it at the other side, but don’t tie it off. It’ll find its way home.”

  And with that the big woman turned her back, crossed the pebble beach and disappeared into the crevice in the cliffs, Oso at her heels.

  Maggie grabbed the lines, pulled the boat closer to shore and tossed in her pack. “C’mon, Badger. Faster and farther the better.”

  Badger jumped in as she untied the line and pushed the boat into deeper wat
er before heaving herself over the side. As the boat glided across the water Maggie wondered what it would be like for Beth, reading those books without anyone to interpret what was in them for her. Surely learning without a teacher could be dangerous. On the other hand, books were a very good way out of a dark wood.

  Maggie looked behind her. Apparently, she would not be going back. Although the moon-river path lay in front of the boat clear as silver on black velvet, behind them the blackness had swallowed the beach and the cliffs and all that lay beyond. Maggie felt as though someone had dripped ice water down her back and she shivered. Badger curled up under the seat, his nose to his tail, although he wasn’t sleeping. A wind came up, pushing in the direction they travelled. There’s a bit of luck, she thought. She unfurled the sail and adjusted the line as the wind filled it. This really was a fine little boat, she thought. It rode the lake like a bright horse.

  From the portside two dark shapes flew toward the boat. The ravens landed on the bow’s curling stems, next to the lanterns. Badger barked, and the birds clacked their beaks and cawed, then tucked their heads under their wings and promptly went to sleep.

  She wondered if they’d been waiting for her all this time and then she pondered how much time had passed since she’d left home. How long had Kyle been in this strange world? It would drive a person mad. She looked at Badger, fast asleep. He was a wise dog. She realized how exhausted she was. Every bone ached as though weighted with iron. She tied the rudder in place with her scarf, slipped off the seat and curled up next to Badger. He heaved a great sigh and before she heard him finish the exhalation she was asleep.

  * * *

  MAGGIE DREAMS …

  She and Kyle are walking in a deep and tangled wood. They have been wandering for days and they are terribly thirsty. A spring of clear water appears before them and Kyle rushes toward it, bending his head to drink.

  Just as he does, Maggie hears terrible growls, and the sound of claws scratching against stone.