Cold Fire

by James Hartley

  “I know that your love exists because I see it in your eyes

  “Of course, we don’t have to make declarations in front of people, or hold ceremonies, to make a relationship real but I know there is something in you both that wants to. You both want to show us, and show the world, that you are serious about your love and your commitment to each other, and I feel it. I’m honoured I can help.”

  “Thanks, Kiz,” Gillian whispered

  “I believe you both and I’m happy to bear witness to your love,” Kizzie continued. “I have no special power vested in me except that I believe I may act, this morning, as the eyes of the world watching you make your vows

  “I ask nature, the universe, and all that has been created to witness what you are saying to each other and what you are promising each other this morning

  “I ask you, too, to be aware of what you are promising the universe, nature, and yourselves

  “As honest as you both are, so your love will be.”

  “I promise,” said Gillian quietly, although nobody had prompted her

  “I promise,” added Romeo. He smiled at Gillian and squeezed her hand

  “Zak and Athy, you are here as human eyes, to witness what these two are saying and promising to each other. Do you understand that?”

  “I do,” each answered in turn

  “Gill and Romeo. What you two are promising is to love each other. To believe that this love you have now, if nurtured and protected and looked after as you would look after yourselves and your own hearts, will carry you both safely across the stormy sea of life.” As they nodded, Kizzie took two acorns from her pocket

  “Although your love is strong and bright right now, it is young. I give you these acorns that you may have one each, that you may plant these seeds and watch them grow, two separate things; that you may watch them grow up to be like these trees which shelter us here today, which form our temple, your wedding ground; who also witness your love. Your love will need care, like these seeds. It will need to survive storms, sun, rain, wind and those moments when you simply cannot be there for it. It will need protection

  “Do you both understand?”

  Smiling at each other, they said, “We do.”

  “You came as two people but you will leave as one and now live as one.” Kizzie drew a line in the reddish mud at their feet with a branch. “When you step over this line you leave your past behind. You will never be alone. You will always be together.”

  “Can we jump?” Romeo asked, making Gillian laugh

  “Let’s jump,” Gillian answered, and they did, hopping together over the line in the dirt and collapsing into each other’s arms on the other side

  “Kiss!” shouted Zak, and the happy couple kissed, moving out into the falling rain without noticing they were no longer under the sycamores; without noticing the dark, long-coated figure of Alain Verne standing in front of the sixth-form block

  5

  The traveller woke at first light with a chicken on his chest. He scuffed her off and sat up, noticing immediately the remains of his satchel and pieces of chewed up work all over the sawdust floor. “Oh, nay, nay, nay!” As if guilty, the pigs scuttled away from his boots and honked out through the bottom half of the open door. Outside a cockerel crowed. The room smelled of old smoke

  The traveller did his best to gather up the scraps of paper but most of it was gone: either chewed up and digesting in a pig’s belly or cartwheeling across the frosty ridges of the allotments outside. What could he do? The traveller noticed Mrs Sharpe’s tray from the night before on a shelf in the wall and hungrily, artlessly, ate the hard bread and waxy cheese. His gums hurt and his body felt weak but he forced the food into his stomach, washing it down with the mug of cold, flat beer

  There didn’t seem to be anyone in the house and he followed the chickens and ducks outside, pushing open the swinging top-half of the door and stretching in the meek, winter sunlight. The sky was an oddly blank canvas. It might snow or it might clear up, it was difficult to say. The traveller could smell the freshness of the air and liked the place. He had slept well for the first time since leaving home. It was only the second night he’d slept with a real roof over his head. And no bad dreams!

  Strolling around the outside of the monk’s house, he took in the almost-romantic ruins of the abbey, broken down and grey-blue, stubbled and overgrown. The rafters had long gone but two of the great walls remained almost intact. Pigeons and starlings poked and fussed from holes in the masonry while a cat licked its lips and prowled below. There was part of a tower nearby: he noticed the smoke snaking up from its wooden roof but mistook it for a cloud and was distracted by a cry from out on the open land

  “Hi! Hi!”

  The traveller put his hand to his brow and looked out over the empty green heath. A stocky figure was standing silhouetted by the sun, arms out as though crucified, and the traveller thought it was the figure a scarecrow until it moved and called out again

  “Hi!”

  It seemed natural to the young man to walk closer and see what was going on. A few chickens followed him as far as the first fence and a mongrel with patches of pink skin broke off scratching long enough to bark at him and snap at his ankles, but Will paid him no mind. At the sewage ditch, he held his nose and leapt across to the far bank and the figure in the field turned at the thud on the turf. The traveller saw it was Mrs Sharpe

  “May I approach?” he called out, steam billowing from his cupped hands

  “If ye must.”

  “If ye must,” the traveller repeated, walking over. Yea, I must!

  Mrs Sharpe lifted her arm and cried again, “Hi, hi!”

  The young man ducked as a noisy shape flew in close behind his ear. Opening his eyes and coming out of the crouch, he saw a gorgeous beige bird of prey on Mrs Sharpe’s arm. “A falcon, ma’am?” The bird twitched its head, its yellow eyes examining the traveller

  For the first time the old lady softened. “He likes birds?”

  “He does,” nodded the traveller, approaching to examine the falcon as it tore at a strip of flesh Mrs Sharp held in her gnarly fingers. “Ah, she’s a beauty.”

  “That she is,” Mrs Sharpe replied proudly. But she took the meat from the talons and shook her head, tutting to the bird. “No, no, Bess. We don’t want ye fed up, now, do we? We want ye hungry and keen.”

  “Bess?” asked the traveller

  “Bess.” Mrs Sharpe turned, lifted her arm, made some almost imperceptible movement and the falcon took flight, batting its gorgeous wings and rising high into the empty sky. “And you?”

  “Me, ma’am?”

  “Who might you be?”

  “Will,” the traveller answered

  “Will of the Midlands, eh?”

  “Will of Stratford. Will Shakespeare, it is.”

  “Very grand, I’m sure.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so.”

  After a pause to check on Bess – a swerving line of black – and without looking back, Mrs Sharpe asked, “And is he married?”

  “He is.”

  “With children?”

  “He is.”

  “Then why is he here?”

  “To make his fortune,” came the reply. “To see the world. To go to London. For we only have so much time, do we not? None to waste, that’s for sure.”

  “He’s ambitious!” Mrs Sharpe forced herself to laugh scornfully

  “He is.”

  “Then he would not be satisfied being a schoolmaster here, methinks.”

  “Why not?”

  Mrs Sharpe looked at Will and made herself laugh so hard she started coughing. “What is it ye occupy yourself with? What were those scraps I saw this morning flying about? Poetry is it?”

  Something about the woman’s affront, her obvious need to denigrate him, made Will’s pride prickle, and he decided he would stand up for himself. He hadn’t come this far to be derided by a bitter old woman. “Poetry and drama. Theatre.”

 
; “Ah, I see.” Mrs Sharpe tutted and shook her head. “You’re a writer.”

  “I am.”

  “And what makes you want to do such a foolhardy job?”

  “I don’t know. You may as well ask me why I have blue eyes.”

  “Are ye any good?”

  “I think I am,” replied the young man. “I just need to convince everyone else.”

  “Convince London and you’ll convince the world, is that it?”

  “I ask only for a chance. An opportunity,” Will replied. “London is where the great theatres are. The great actors. It would be silly not to go.”

  “Yes, well.” Mrs Sharpe sniffed and her boil swelled. “All that glisters ain’t gold, sir. That’s all I shall say on the matter.”

  There followed a mellow silence as they watched Bess circle above their heads, in long, slow, graceful gyres

  “I read some of them scraps, mind,” Mrs Sharpe said suddenly. “Afore the pigs got ‘em. Their desire was greater than mine, see.”

  “Oh.”

  She turned to Will and he saw, just for a moment, the very beautiful young girl she must have once been. Yes, there she was, Mary Sharpe – perhaps eight years old, plump and bonny, eyes turning slitty when she laughed, knotty red hair, chuckling without a care in the world. An infectious laugh which had cheered everyone up who’d heard her. He could see her in a bonny hat, dirty from work, jesting and gossiping with whoever was close at hand. “What did you think of what you read, may I ask, Mrs Sharpe?”

  “Not bad,” sniffed Mrs Sharpe. “Too much punning for my taste. A very low form of wit, is punning. You’ll find more than enough of that in the Benbow of an evening.”

  “Ah.” Will nodded. “Fair point.”

  “The Master liked them, I’ll say.”

  “Ah. Did he?” The Master, thought Will. So that’s what they call him.

  “He wants ye to stay awhile.”

  Will bowed. “I’d be happy to.”

  “Teaching, you’ll note. Not writing. You’ll do that nonsense in your spare time, like everyone else. During daylight hours you’ll put your talent to some practical use. Something that’ll make you some money.”

  “Of course.”

  “He’s too old to teach them himself now, you know. Though he won’t stop. He won’t stop until he drops dead, which can’t be long coming, Gawd help him.”

  Will looked back at the ruins. “How many pupils are here, ma’am?”

  Mrs Sharpe rolled her eyes. “That’s a good question.” Her mood altered in a blink and she ducked down, squinting. “Hi, she’s got something! Look at the way her tail’s wagging! Ah, me Bess’s got something all right!”

  “How can you see that from here?”

  “Eyes like a hawk,” Mrs Sharpe replied, looking straight at Will. “My father, God Bless His Soul, always said that. Said, you’re not a bonny lass, Mare, but ye’ve got the eyes of a hawk. And he was not far wrong. We’re all given something, you see. Key to everything is working out what you’ve been given. Putting it to good use. Ah! Here she comes. Come on then, my lovely. Come home. Come on then.”

  As Bess came back to them, wings beating audibly, a dead, wide-eyed hare dangling from her talons, Will watched Mrs Sharpe, smiling and unguarded, and saw the whole story. Her father, he was sure, had died young, perhaps of the plague or the pox. Her mother also, not long after. Mrs Sharpe had brought up the family. She was the oldest child: she was called Mary after all

  Hard work and hard living had ruined her; the old monk had taken her in, perhaps as a housekeeper, perhaps as a schoolmistress, perhaps, even, as a mistress. But probably not, Will thought, seeing it all, reading the woman’s elbows and knees. Probably she’d wanted him to love her but he was too holy, too pious. She’d turned mannish, cold and bitter and her body had become a prison: a fortress wherein that little redheaded, happy plump girl was chained up in a dungeon, deep in the innards. Kept prisoner by her older self

  Poor woman.

  Mrs Sharpe was showing Will the dead, still-warm hare and stroking Bess

  “My friend! Good morning to ye! Good morning!”

  Will turned. The old monk was standing with the ruins of the monastery behind him, a full moon pale as bone imprinted on the sky above the tower, waving to Will with his great, dark sleeves

  “Come along, then!” he shouted. “Don’t you want to start work, boy?”

  “Yes, Master,” Will replied, nodding to Mrs Sharpe and winking at Bess

  6

  “The Magistrate meeting this morning has been cancelled,” Alain told Kizzie. He looked around and over her shoulder as he spoke. “I thought you should know. They told me you were here.”

  “Oh.” Kizzie looked back at The Dips. The jewelled ribbons she’d hung in the trees were still there, fluttering and tinkling, but the others were gone. “All right. Thanks for telling me.”

  “Was that Gillian I saw with you?”

  As soon as Alain asked this, Kizzie relaxed. She looked back and said, “Yes. She was here, yes. I don’t know where she is now. I thought she was behind me.”

  “Who else was here?”

  “My sister Athy and Zak. He’s a boy in our class.” She put her hand to her brow, which she would never normally do, but which seemed somehow right. “Where on earth have they gone?”

  “What were you all doing down here?”

  Kizzie shrugged. “Just clearing our heads before breakfast. Got a nightmare assignment to hand in today. We’re a group. Not Athy, but she knows about some of that stuff. Boring stuff.”

  Alain seemed preoccupied. They began to walk back up by the sixth form block towards the Assembly Hall. A bell rang loudly throughout the school. Pupils were filing into the hall from all directions

  “Did you talk to her about me?” Alain asked

  “I tried,” Kizzie explained, shrugging, “but I don’t think she took me seriously.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “I know you are. It’s just that it’s not … normal. I don’t think she thinks you could really be interested in her, that’s all.”

  This seemed to cheer Alain up. As they got near the main intersection, busy with day students arriving and boarders coming out of breakfast, Alain pulled Kizzie to one side. “I need to tell you something. I mean, you are practically one of us now, so I should tell you.”

  “What?”

  “There is someone here, in the school, who is not what they seem.” Alain pushed back his fringe. “It’s someone who is not real. An imaginary character.”

  “What?”

  “I know, I know, but you have to believe me. There is something here. An entity. A dangerous entity. Do you remember the boy you saw on the playing fields?”

  “Yes.” Kizzie looked very confused

  “Well he is not real. Someone invented him.”

  “Oh-kay.”

  “I’m telling you because it might save your life.” Alain said this in such a serious tone that Kizzie got a fright. “Yes, this information might save the life of your friends – of everyone. There’re things going on here that you have no idea about, Kizzie. Creatures like that boy are very dangerous. They’re unnatural. They belong somewhere and they’re not where they belong.” He looked vulnerable. “Please make sure Gillian doesn’t go near him. If she does she’ll be playing with fire, you must understand that. You must make her understand that. All of you are in great danger if you don’t heed my warning. I can’t tell you how serious I am.”

  Kizzie nodded, slightly embarrassed by the scene he was making. “OK, OK, Alain. I get it. We haven’t seen him. But – but thanks for telling us anyway. I’ll be on the lookout.” Kizzie turned to the Assembly Hall and queued to get inside. She had a seat saved for her and walked over

  “What was that all about?” Gillian asked

  “Nothing,” said Kizzie

  “Did he see us?” Gillian asked

  “No.”

  “See who?” asked Angela, drying her wet hair
with a small hand towel she’d brought with her

  “No one,” replied the other three at the same time

  Alain remained outside the Hall and lifted his nose to the air like a predator

  He knew the boy was out here, somewhere on the grounds. There was no way Alain could go to Assembly that morning. No, he must hunt the boy down

  Not knowing where to start, Alain walked in the opposite direction to the green tide surging towards him, back down the steps and alongside the kitchens to the front drive. There, somewhat pathetically, was one of the boys who’d left the school the year before. He was standing by his car smoking a cigarette, music booming from the speaker in the car door, winking at a sixth-form girl who was backing away from him

  “Can’t stay away, huh?” asked Alain, approaching

  “Hey. All that brown-nosing paid off, huh, Vernie? Got your little badge? Free to boss people about now, eh? Official bully.”

  “You shouldn’t be smoking on the school grounds, Doyle.”

  “Whatcha gonna do? Give me extra homework?”

  “What are you doing here, man? You’re sad!”

  “Just paying a quick trip in to see you losers.”

  “There’s only one loser here, man.”

  “Yep, you.”

  Alain gave the other boy a mock salute. “Whatever you say, Doyle.”

  The Head of the Magistrate walked on down the looping path, beyond Lanark, the senior boy’s house, and down to the workmen’s sheds. His sixth sense tingled when he walked amongst the tractors and mowers and he spent ten minutes checking under and between the machinery

  He’s not here but he was.

  Try as he might, Alain couldn’t conjure up a picture of who he’d seen at The Dips with Kizzie. Truth be told he’d been thinking of home: his grandmother was very ill. She had perhaps days, probably hours to live. His mother and father had told him it was better he stayed where he was, concentrated on his studies; it’s what his grandmother would have wanted, but the news had thrown Alain. Nobody had died in his family in a long time and he was very close to his grandmother, always had been

  He’d wandered down the side of the sixth form block to be alone and think things through when he’d seen Kizzie approaching. Some other people, figures, had scuttled away into the bushes before he’d had a chance to see who they were. When he’d seen Kizzie he’d thought of Gillian. She was the only thing that balanced out the darkness he felt when he thought of his grandmother