Ink

by Alice Broadway

  I look away in shock. It is absolutely clear that Granddad hated my father. No – he despised him. The sourness of the emotion taints the whole tree and I’m left feeling sick.

  All the warmth has left my skin and I reach a shaking hand towards my cup of coffee. I bring it to my lips but manage to miss my mouth, spilling scalding liquid on to the book. I leap up, grab a cloth and soak up the spill. Thankfully skin books are resilient and the ink won’t smudge, but I’m afraid that I might have damaged some of the preservative, and that his book will warp and degrade. Mum shoots a look at me and gasps as she sees what I’ve done. She springs up to help, and as she does she sees the page I’ve been reading.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” she hisses, wrenching it away. “You stupid, stupid girl.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Mum recovers quickly. She apologizes and dabs at the book I’ve already cleaned. Her steely composure is back in place.

  There are more secrets here, though: secrets around Granddad and why he hated my father. I can’t bear it; it feels like walking through sand, all unsteady on my feet. I need something solid. I grab my coat, shawl and bag and head to Verity’s.

  It’s started to rain and the drops are so painfully cold it feels like hail. My hair and face are covered by my shawl and I walk quickly. Only my eyes peep out, and my fast breath warms my cheeks. My head is dipped down, and I pass people without looking up, without acknowledging or reading them.

  My mind is heavy with the excess of confusing thoughts. Oscar, Obel, Mum, Dad – lies and uncertainty surround each of them. “At least I have Verity,” I whisper to myself gratefully as I reach her house.

  The door is answered quickly by Verity’s brother, Seb. He greets me with his ever-present smile and invites me in.

  I love reading Seb – I can see the real story.

  There was an awful time a few years ago when he came home pale and tear-stained. A group of lads had surrounded him, laughing at his arms so bare of qualifications and achievement marks. They had threatened to mark him with a compass and had called him a stupid blank.

  But I can see the heart beneath Seb’s skin. I can see how he adores his sister and would fiercely protect her should the need ever arise. I can see that he’s more worthy of honour than most. And there are marks there now – not many, but his baker’s qualification and the times he’s won star employee.

  “How’s life as an inker?” Seb asks as he hangs my coat up.

  “It’s fun, Seb. I’m really enjoying it,” I say, smiling as I lay my wet shawl over the back of a chair to dry out a bit. “How about you? How’s the bakery?”

  Seb moves the chair a little closer to the roaring fire so my shawl will dry more quickly. “It’s all right – I got employee of the month. They gave me a bottle of wine.”

  “Employee of the month? Again?” I smile and give Seb a hug. “That’s brilliant! So where’s this wine, then?”

  “I’m not sharing,” Seb quips, and I laugh just as Verity comes down to the kitchen.

  “Ah! I thought I heard you!” Verity gives me a hug. For a moment she looks tired and a little distracted, but the next she brightens and seems herself again. She’s wearing a scruffy knitted jumper, which I think she’s had since she was twelve, and she also has on the soft, baggy trousers we used to wear for sport at school.

  “What do you look like, Vetty?” I say, shaking my head.

  She struts comically across the kitchen to the kettle. “I know, right?” She flashes me a smile while she fills the kettle with water and places it on the stove. “I’m tired of wearing my tight work stuff. Today I’m all about the comfort!”

  For a beautiful girl, she’s really good at looking like a mess. I love her for it.

  I spend a truly relaxed afternoon at Verity’s. We talk about people from school that we’ve caught glimpses of through the week, and Verity fills me in on some of the nastier girls from school, who have ended up working at the government as admin staff. She’s been really enjoying being able to boss them around and seeing their frustration build. Only Verity would cope so well with the role reversal. I know if it was me, I would still blush furiously every time I spoke to them, and would somehow end up doing their work for them. I need to go to “be more like Verity” classes. Her boss is really pleased with her and she’s been told she can make the move to the Funerary Department. Her eyes sparkle with excitement when she tells me about it.

  “I’m going to have my own office and everything.”

  When I tell her about my first tattoo, Verity squeals gratifyingly.

  “Oh wow! Do you think you’ll be able to ink me? How amazing would that be?” She pulls up one of the legs of her trousers, “I’m starting to think I want my ink to be like a vine, starting here,” she points to her calf, “and kind of showing different fruit as it grows. What do you think?”

  “I think you should make an appointment,” I say with a smile.

  I’d love to ink my friend, to be a part of her first mark. I can see vines and fruit on Verity. I’ll have to ask Obel what he thinks.

  Obel. I remember my last moments in the studio and shiver.

  “Have you ever seen the White Witch tattooed on anyone?” I venture. Verity’s eyebrows rise and she leans towards me conspiringly.

  “No! I didn’t know it was allowed. To have yourself marked with someone so evil – the first blank. What have you seen – was it on some sleazy old man’s bum?” She shudders gleefully, clearly excited to hear some gossip from my studio.

  “Urgh! Verity! No, nothing like that. I’ve never seen one, obviously – who would choose it? But her picture was in this book of old marks – tattoos that people used to actually have. Well, it seemed so odd. I can’t imagine anyone wanting it, even years and years ago.” I weigh up what to say next – I don’t want to regret saying too much. “So it’s not come up in your work at the archives?”

  Verity rolls her eyes. “Nope, nothing that interesting. There’s so much to trawl through.” She hesitates, her eyes distracted, before pulling herself together and smiling at me – and do I imagine it, or is her smile wary? “I’m glad to be moving on. I feel like I’m actually about to start work properly. But I’ll tell you if I hear about any weirdos with a White Witch fetish!”

  As the light gets dimmer I hug Verity and Seb, and head towards home. My shawl is deliciously warm round my neck and the rain has stopped. I’m relieved that Mum’s not downstairs when I get in. I make myself a sandwich and hide out in my room for the rest of the evening. I go to bed early.

  And I dream.

  I’m in the inking studio and each of my ancestors is there – in the flesh, not just their papery forms. And they’re yelling at Obel and me. They’re all saying that they get to choose my first mark, and they’re all shouting words that I can’t quite make out. Until all their voices merge into one, and then I hear what they’re saying, and the word they scream is, “Crow, crow, crow.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The weeks pass – one then two – and finally my hand is completely better. There will be a scar, but I can use it well enough. I’m thrilled to be back in the studio and getting to work – I’ve missed it. Plus, anywhere is better than the atmosphere at home right now. Mum’s been so quiet, but she won’t admit that she’s worried, which just makes me more anxious.

  I reach the studio early on Monday morning and Obel lets me in. We both spend time preparing things for the day ahead. I keep meaning to ask him why he made me draw the White Witch the other week – whether it’s my imagination that tells me she looks just like me – but every time there’s a chance I lose courage.

  I’m absorbed in my thoughts and I don’t notice Karl come in until he knocks over the inks as he passes me.

  “Pay attention, Leora!” Obel calls out crossly. He throws a rag my way and my cheeks burn as I clear up the ink.

  Why can’t I just say, “It was Karl”? Why do I let everyone walk over me and make me feel like a clumsy
child? Karl’s mocking smile doesn’t help and my fist tightens around the inky rag while I tell myself to calm down. I slow my breathing, forcing myself to relax and rinse out the rag and hang it over the tap.

  “Right, you two,” Obel says, grabbing his keys and a leather bag from the table, “I’ve got an errand to run and there are no appointments this morning. We’ll open up the shop a little later today. While I’m gone you can give the studio a good clean – that floor could do with a sweep as well.” He shoulders his bag and leaves out of the back door.

  I glance at Karl, who is looking smug and annoying as ever. “I don’t think either of us want to spend more time together than we need to,” he says as he opens the store cupboard and removes a few cleaning items. “One of us can clean the studio and the other can do in here.”

  I shrug in agreement and opt to do the back room; this way, Karl has to scrub the loos.

  Doing the cleaning feels mercifully therapeutic and I lose myself in it. An hour passes. I stand back to see if I’ve missed anything. It’s looking fine so I decide to carry on with my reading. The shop bell rings; a customer must have come in. I can hear Karl answering the door and the murmur of voices. He must be telling them to come back when Obel is here.

  About half an hour later Obel returns, seeming cheerful after whatever his errand involved. The back room is looking beautiful and it’s shiningly clean.

  “Thanks, girl,” Obel smiles as he hangs up his bag.

  He heads to the studio with his keys in his hand and I follow.

  I hear the familiar buzzing of the inking machine before I step through the door. Obel stops abruptly and then his keys clash on to the slate floor and Karl looks up. With a slow click the machine switches off and we survey the scene in absolute, chilling silence.

  Karl was marking the customer himself, unsupervised. The man lifts his head; he looks pale against the black of the chair, his brow glowing with a sheen of pain-induced sweat. Obviously bewildered by the sudden silence – and perhaps relieved to have a momentary reprieve from the sting, he raises himself to sit. Obel steps forward and takes the machine from Karl’s hand.

  “I’ll take it from here. Step into the back please, Karl.” There’s a cold, stony quality to his voice that makes me shiver.

  Karl flushes red and walks into the back room with his head held high. Obel turns to the customer.

  “I’ll be with you in just a moment.” He follows Karl into the back room. “Leora, lay out the inks.”

  I quickly gather the equipment from around the studio and prepare it for Obel without speaking. I hear Obel’s voice, low but full of barely controlled anger, as I pass the door to the back room.

  “What the hell did you think you were doing?” He’s whispering, but his quiet voice just makes his anger more electric. “Do you have any idea of the damage you could have done?”

  I look at the man waiting on the chair and give him a smile which I intend to be reassuring but probably shows exactly how mortified I feel. I wonder if Karl will still have a job after this is over? There is the sound of a chair being scraped across the slate floor and then silence.

  Obel comes back, looking completely calm. He has gone into inker mode and is chatting to the man about his mark. He dismisses me with a wave of his hand and I head to the back room.

  Karl is sitting in a chair and his face has the embarrassed expression of a naughty toddler. He gets up when I come in.

  “You could have stuck up for me.” I’m so surprised that I just stare at him. He eyes me with absolute contempt.

  “Why should I?” My voice is shaking. “What you did was crazy.”

  He’s still holding his gloves and I can imagine the ink and blood smeared on the fingertips. He shoves them into a bin roughly.

  “Do you fancy him? Is that what it is?” Karl’s face is flushed. “You’ve been his favourite from the start.” He looks like he’s about to cry or hit me, or both.

  “Why did you do it? You must have known he’d be furious.”

  He shrugs. “I didn’t plan it, but when the customer came in I just … I thought when Obel saw what I could do, he might start taking me seriously…”

  “Well. I’m sure it’ll be OK.” I don’t know why I’m trying to reassure him, but I make my voice soothing. I sit down at one of the tall stools at the counter. “Just give him some time to cool down.”

  “He likes you,” Karl is muttering now. “You could put in a good word for me. I can’t lose this job, Leora, do you hear me? My dad would kill me.”

  I try to think of something to say. I can see he’s sorry, and scared, but why would I stick up for Karl Novak?

  “Listen to me! Don’t just sit there and pretend I’m not here. Leora!” Karl grabs my shoulder, fingers digging in to my skin, and tries to force me to turn around. I pull away and as I do the stool slips. I hear Karl gasp and I don’t have time to put out my hands to soften the fall.

  The last thing I see, as my head hits the slate floor and my vision recedes into black spots, are Obel’s boots striding towards us.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “You’re sure you don’t want to see a doctor?” Obel frowns his concern at me. “It’s really red.”

  I gingerly move my head from side to side and rub the sore skin on my forehead. I can feel a lump swelling up nicely.

  “I’m fine. The guy Karl marked is probably in a worse state.” I try to stand up but am struck by dizziness and slump back into my chair. “Is he still in the shop? Shouldn’t you check on him?”

  Obel shakes his head and passes me a glass of water. “I’d just sent him home when I heard Karl call out. He’ll need to heal up before the next sitting.” He smiles and then closes his eyes, his smile fading. “You gave me a scare, girl. I thought he’d killed you.” His voice quivers into silence for a moment. “That boy,” he hisses. “I knew he was a little rough around the edges, but I never would have imagined this. He’s gone, by the way. I told him not to come back.”

  “It … it wasn’t really his fault.” I can’t believe I’m defending Karl. “He was upset and angry but he didn’t mean for me to fall. He grabbed my arm and the stool slipped.” The necklace from Dad is hanging out of my shirt, and my head swims when I move too fast to straighten it and tuck it out of sight.

  “I’m not blind, Leora. It was obvious you two hated each other from the moment you both walked in. Getting the two of you to compete for a permanent post was perhaps not the best plan.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Obel. It’s happened but he’s gone now, it’s over.”

  Even as I try to assure Obel, images of Karl grabbing me pollute my thoughts. Thankfully, Obel leaves me alone, and a moment later I hear the comforting sound of the kettle boiling. I let out a tiny giggle.

  “Tea solves everything. That’s what my mum says,” I call out softly.

  Obel looks my way and offers a smile. “It might not solve everything, but it helps.”

  I watch him while he pours and stirs. His hands are steady, and even making tea looks like art when he’s doing it. Then I realize why I feel so safe with Obel – he reminds me of Dad.

  He hands me my cup, then takes a seat opposite. He sips his tea and sits forward, looking suddenly very tired. “What a disaster. And he showed such promise. Anyway, I’m sorry, Leora. You’re free of him now.”

  I hold my cup in shaking hands and smile at Obel. A little part of me is relieved. I was right about Karl, right to be wary of him, and now he’s gone. He messed this up all on his own. He won’t interfere with the one thing that’s going well for me, not any more.

  “Well.” Obel goes to rise. “You sit there and recover.”

  Suddenly I can no longer help myself. “You gave me that drawing of the White Witch to copy on purpose, didn’t you?”

  Obel turns back to me. “What are you talking about?”

  I stare him out. Eventually he shrugs and sits back down.

  “Yes, I thought you seemed unnerved – by the re
semblance, I assume. But Leora, of course you look just like her. I thought you would have known. Especially given who your father was.”

  Who my father was.

  “You knew my dad?” I ask, with a voice that sounds shriller than I intended. “You knew my dad, but you didn’t tell me?”

  Obel shifts in his seat. “Your dad was an important man. He was special to a lot of people.”

  I try to convey through a hard stare that this isn’t good enough. I want more.

  “Listen to me, Leora. Believe me.” Obel moves his body so he can look right into my face. “I did know your dad – from afar – and of course I’d heard of him before I came here. Most of us have.”

  “Us?” I snap.

  He presses his hand to his forehead. “So hard to know the right thing to do,” he murmurs, almost to himself. Then: “Leora, your father… He’s the reason I came to Saintstone. I followed him. I listened to him – many did. He gave us hope that things might change – that blanks might live alongside the marked.” I gasp and he stops and looks at me. “You’re so like her. I thought he would have prepared you…”

  “What are you saying? That I’m what – linked to the White Witch somehow? To the original blank? And that my dad was OK with that?” My voice rises high and sharp.

  The idea is so ludicrous that I laugh, but Obel doesn’t.

  “Why did you make me draw her, if you didn’t want to tell me more?” I grip the arms of my chair as another wave of dizziness hits me. “If you didn’t want me to ask questions you shouldn’t have baited me. Why? Do you think I want to be associated with a bloody blank witch?”

  I see Obel flinch at my words but I carry on.

  “We all know the story, Obel. She’s cursed, she’s strange, she’s the one who is forgotten. And you’re telling me I’m like her?”

  “Is she forgotten, Leora?” He looks at my face as though studying it for his next line. “Is she really forgotten? It seems like you know enough about her, and I bet your friends do too.” I dip my head in reluctant agreement. “It seems to me that she’s one of the most remembered women in our history.”