Of course, no one knows the preciousness of sleep better than parents of newborns. They fantasize about sleep. When they do get a snatched moment to doze, they dream they’re awake and have forgotten to feed the baby or to put her in her cradle.
Little wonder then, that when the sleep-starved King and Queen had their first child they forgot one or two people when they sent out invitations to the banquet celebrating the birth of their daughter. Most of the people who were forgotten were much too polite to complain – after all, who were they to expect an invitation to the palace? But there’s always someone who thinks a little too highly of themselves, and it’s always that person who you accidentally offend.
When the guests were laying their gifts at the foot of the baby’s cradle, no one noticed the woman who crept in, the one whose name wasn’t on the guest list.
The King and Queen were lucky to have friends who knew the secrets of magic, and their daughter was bestowed with virtuous qualities fitting for a princess. One gave beauty, another charm, another riches, and still another, intelligence. As the last guest approached the cradle, there was a sudden chill in the air. Those assembled murmured in embarrassed fascination as the uninvited woman strode up to the seats.
“I see I’m just in time for the gifts,” she crowed as the King and Queen shifted awkwardly in their thrones. “I’m so glad I haven’t missed my chance.”
It’s fair to say that this magical creature was piqued. She was angry to have been forgotten and decided to make sure the King and Queen would remember her every day from here on.
“My gift is to be saved for her sixteenth birthday,” smiled the woman, baring her white teeth. “The day this child turns sixteen, she will prick her finger on the spindle of a spinning wheel and she will instantly die.”
The Queen fainted and the King begged her to change her mind, but the forgotten woman walked away unhearing, taking a slice of cake as she left the castle.
As the horrified shouts and screams faded, the final magical guest – who had been waiting to give her gift – spoke up.
“I can’t undo the curse in its entirety but I can change it. Instead of dying, this child and the whole kingdom will sleep for one hundred years, after which time, a kiss from a prince will awaken her.”
The shocked and sleep-deprived King thanked the guest and secretly felt that one hundred years of sleep was the best gift anyone had given that night.
The King commanded that all spindles and wheels be destroyed, and his daughter grew in safety and peace all through her childhood. No one is sure why people weren’t a little more watchful during the princess’s sixteenth birthday party. But somehow she managed to wander into a secret part of the palace. There she met a woman spinning, there she pricked her finger, and there she fell in a deep, accursed sleep. At that moment everything and everyone in the kingdom froze. Time had halted and would only begin again in one hundred years’ time.
During the one hundred years many princes tried to reach the sleeping princess, but it was only when the apportioned time had passed that one young prince beat his way through the thorn bushes that had grown up around the castle. He found everyone as still as statues and the princess gently snoring where she had fallen. He kissed her and she woke.
When you’re asleep it’s hard to know how much time has passed. But it was clear to the princess that this had been no ordinary nap. She woke to see a stranger looming over her and she ran away, out to the throne room to find her parents. She saw everyone easing themselves back into wakefulness and wondered what strangeness had occurred. Before long, her parents told her the full story. The princess was enraged. How could they have kept such a secret from her? If she had known, she would never have been so foolish as to prick her finger on a spinning wheel. Wondering if she could ever trust them again she rode away with the prince. She told him that he shouldn’t kiss sleeping girls, and that she would think about his marriage proposal in a few years.
Chapter Thirty-Five
I get through the weekend somehow. Mum looks as tense as I feel, but I can tell she’s decided to be optimistic; her mouth is set in a calm smile that looks utterly false. Late on the Sunday evening, the night before Dad’s weighing, there’s a knock at the door. Mum is upstairs and I answer it. Verity stands there, her hair plastered to her head and her teeth chattering in the biting rain.
I catch her arm. “Verity! What are you doing here? It’s freezing. Come in!”
I hang up her sodden coat and find her a towel for her hair. It’s only then that I notice she looks ill – dark circles under her eyes, an ashy pallor to her skin. Something’s wrong. Really wrong.
“What’s happened? Is everything OK?” She shakes her head slightly and looks dazed. “Is Seb all right?”
“It’s not Seb.” She catches my hands in hers. “I heard something on Friday at work, Lor, and I need to tell you. At first it didn’t seem important. But the more I’ve thought about it… I don’t know if it matters, but I have to tell you.”
I pull out a chair for her and we sit down. “What happened?” I dread asking, but I have to know everything before tomorrow morning.
She rubs the ends of her long hair with the towel. “It’s probably nothing, Lor. I feel ridiculous for worrying so much. It’s just that I bumped into Karl.” She makes a face as though she’s tasted something poisonous. “He seems to have friends in low places; he’s been working at the government building.” I sigh. It’s just like him to fall on his feet. “Anyway, he saw me and I tried to keep walking but then he called after me. He said … he said, ‘See you on Monday. I hope you’re ready.’” She sees my face and laughs shakily. “I know – you’ll tell me I’m overreacting. But it sounded as though he meant something by it.”
“You think he’s planning to come to Dad’s weighing?” I ask in disbelief.
Verity shrugs. “I have no idea, Lor. I thought he was just winding me up – he knows it’s my first ceremony case. But the more I’ve thought about it, the more I’ve wondered if he knows something.”
“He’s not that clever, Verity – not clever enough to have found out anything. He just loves annoying people.” Do I believe that?
“But still, Lor. He knows we’re friends, and he knows I’ve been working on your dad’s case. Will you be careful? He could try to ruin everything.”
My heart sinks, but I keep my voice light. “He doesn’t know anything,” I repeat. “Does he?”
Verity shakes her head. “I don’t think so. I’ve been careful enough for people not to make the link, and the summary of your dad’s book that I’ve written for the judge is neutral – no one could suspect me of favouring him. But I wanted to warn you.” She gives a weak smile. “Not that you can do much about it between now and tomorrow, I suppose. Just be on your guard, OK?”
I lean forward and rub her knee. “Thanks Vetty. It’s going to be all right. I’ve got a good feeling.” I’m reassuring myself as much as her.
She smiles again – her old hopeful smile this time. “You’re right. I’m sorry – I’m being silly. He just makes me nervous.” I wipe the tears from her cheeks and we hug.
“Listen, it’s getting late and we could both do with a bit of sleep tonight.” I give her my coat as hers is still soaked. “Here, take this. Get home before your mum worries.”
Verity nods. “Mum and Dad will be there tomorrow,” she says. “You know we will all be asking our ancestors to uphold justice. I’ll light a candle in remembrance of your dad before I leave for the trial.”
We’re both crying now, but trying to smile and sniff our way out of it. I open the door and the wind makes the coat and shawl billow around Verity’s slim frame. She reaches into the pockets and pulls out two dead leaves. She frowns and lets them drop on to the sodden ground.
“Thank you, Verity. You’re the best best friend I could ever imagine.” I mean it.
I watch her walk away until the rain is all I can see. Eventually I hear Mum call from upstairs – “Is there
a window open Leora? It’s freezing!” – and I shut the door.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Mum and I are both awake early. We eat hot toast with butter in a nervous silence. I stir the tea and the only sound is the spoon hitting the side of the pot and the scrape of the lid as I replace it. We are both dressed formally, with our finest shawls draped over the backs of our chairs, ready to encase us with their power and protection.
We light candles for each of our ancestors and one for my father too. We speak a short prayer, asking them for guidance today whatever the outcome. But these are only my mother’s ancestors; will they care? Still, I must trust my ancestors to be good, to be just. I even ask Granddad to have mercy and call for justice for Dad.
Mum is crying as she blows out the candles. She gets to Dad’s and shakes her head. She walks away hand over mouth, shoulders quaking with sobs. It’s down to me to blow his candle out. It’s never felt so wrong.
“See you later, Dad,” I whisper. And I extinguish his flame.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
In spite of its ever-burning fire, the hall of judgement feels cold to me. The stone arches of the outer-walkway are whipped by a breeze from the open doors. The entrance doors are always open to remind us that this is where we all will enter sooner or later. The fire is always lit so that we don’t forget the threat of eternal destruction.
The bench Mum and I sit on has flattened cushions running along it; stitched, I expect, by earnest devotees years ago. They offer no real relief from the shallow seat and hard wood. Even the fabric has absorbed the chill, sending it through my muscles into my bones. Nothing here offers any comfort to my anxious heart.
Being inside the hall feels like being inside a witch’s hat. The ceiling funnels upwards, the coloured stained-glass panels that slant inwards towards the chimney bathe us in their watery glow. The full spectrum is displayed in the leaded shards that look down on us. The sun’s position illuminates the indigos and violets, making the room look bruised and drenched in wine.
Two men in the leather of our traditional dress stoke the fire, adding more cherry and apple tree logs to it which gives the air an incense-sweet fragrance that combines with the scent of the cold benches, musty stone and tangy metal columns. I always thought I would come here feeling hopeful, feeling joy beneath the grief of death. I never imagined I would sit here with even an ounce of uncertainty about the outcome of the judgement. I wouldn’t have considered that I’d need to be praying that my own father would escape the flames.
I read a fable once about three men who were put in a furnace for treachery. The onlookers saw that the men weren’t burning up and that another mysterious figure had joined them. The men were freed from the furnace unscathed, not even smelling of smoke. I pray that my ancestors will shield my father, that they will be with him to protect him from the fire. Surely we’ve done enough. Surely he will be saved.
I look up at the sloping ceiling. The great metal columns lean in towards the chimney. The beams and panels make it look like a cobweb, and we sit at the base of one of the legs like flies hiding at a spider’s foot. The chimney hangs down, the stamen of a carnivorous plant, an insect tongue sucking the smoke away.
People arrive and sit themselves on the tiered benches that curve round half the room. Some come and touch our hands and whisper consoling words. But just like the food and flowers they sent when Dad was ill, their words can’t do anything. All these people, here for Dad, and they are like strangers; I wish they would just walk by. I look out for the ones I really want to see, and spot Simon and Julia, who give me encouraging smiles. Julia blows us a kiss. Verity will arrive with the judge in the procession that walks from the government building with Dad’s book. I spot Obel across the room, sat on one of the benches furthest away, his face pale and set.
And there’s Oscar. He is pulling his shirt straight, combing a hand through his messy curls. He looks uncomfortable in the formal surroundings, and I remember that he’s been where I am now. He knows what it’s like.
Closing my eyes to block out everyone else I try to go through the order of the ceremony in my mind. First the judge will speak, then Mel will tell the story Dad requested, and then the floor will be opened to anyone who wants to speak and share stories and memories about Dad.
And then it’s the summing up. Verity was sure she had written the summary of his book clearly enough for the judge to make the right decision. She had been neutral, she said, but everything about my dad’s life shouted out to be remembered.
My feet are cold and I tap my toes on the stone floor to wake them. The hall is filling up now, and that’s when I notice him by the door.
Karl.
He is looking right at me.
When he sees that I’m looking his way he looks over his shoulder and raises a hand. He beckons to me from across the room, urging me with his eyes to follow him as he walks out of the door.
The judge still isn’t here, and neither – as far as I can tell – are any members of the government offices.
I decide I have no choice but to see what he wants. I tell Mum I’ll be right back, then stand and walk through the doors Karl just went through. He’s waiting, and now I’m up close I can see he too looks worried, anxious, sweating a little. He gives a brief snarl of a smile and I follow him as he walks further down the corridor. He stops under an arch between the pillars. It’s a space tucked away from the main concourse, shaded by the huge stonework, out of the gleam of the leaded windows.
“What do you want, Karl?” I ask, my voice cold.
His body sags as he sighs. There is something in his face I have never seen before – he looks frightened. “Look,” he says, wetting his lips. “I want to help you. And to apologize. I didn’t mean to hurt you the other day.” His eyebrows furrow. “Everything’s just such a mess,” he says, almost to himself. “I’m sorry.” He looks smaller today, a little crumpled.
“This isn’t the time, Karl. Don’t make this about you.” I resist my instinct to pity him. I need to set my mind on Dad, not get distracted.
“I know. I know that.” His voice comes out strained and he’s fiddling with the buttons on his shirt. “Look. There’s something I need to tell you.”
My patience is running out, and I don’t have time for his games. I look behind me and see a flurry of movement in the courtroom – the judge must be about to come in.
“I’ve got to go,” I say and begin to walk away. Karl grabs my wrist and I turn in fury. “Don’t touch me,” I hiss. “Do you hear? Don’t you ever touch me again.” He takes a startled step back. I head back towards the hall, cursing myself for letting him get to me.
“Leora! Just … just be careful who you put your trust in.” I stop, but don’t turn round. “All this work you’ve done to save your father – they’ve known all along. They’re … they’re just playing with you.” His voice trembles. “You’re doing exactly what they want you to do.”
I freeze, but then I shake my head and carry on walking hearing him groan with frustration as I make my way back to the hall.
But a tiny voice in my mind whispers, How does he know, unless they’ve told him?
Chapter Thirty-Eight
I stumble back to my seat. A cluster of people are in my way and I step round them and sit down next to Mum. She pats my knee.
“Just in time,” she whispers.
There is nothing I can do now. Nothing I can do to change what will happen.
The judge enters with the representatives from the government in procession after him. Verity is right at the back, carrying some papers. With them is Mel, who shoots me a reassuring glance, and I shiver when I recognize the broad figure of Jack Minnow. The judge has a wooden box, and he walks to the front of the dais where the lectern is and opens it. He places its contents on the wooden plinth next to the lectern and sets it up. It’s the scales. They are copper-coloured and marked with age. He places a weight on one of the dishes and it drops to rest on the base of the scal
es. The other dish is empty, waiting for Dad’s book.
The scales that tell the truth. Or is it all part of the ritual, all part of the show? I don’t know any more.
I feel like I’m listening to the proceedings from underwater. The judge’s voice honks importantly but I can’t follow what he is saying. I’ve been waiting for this moment for so long that I can’t believe it’s really happening.
When the judge introduces Mel I chew my thumb hard in a desperate attempt to jolt myself into the present moment. During the story the conniving brother’s tale interests me most. Deception is always discovered. Good always triumphs. Who is good in my father’s life story?
People who knew him come to the stand and talk about my dad. Mum is crying and she reaches to hold my hand. Wonderful father, loving husband, kindly neighbour, masterful flayer. Eventually people stop coming and there’s a pause. The judge begins to sum up.
“This is an unusual case. At a first glance it is clear that Joel Flint was a model citizen – a good husband, a loving father, a hard worker and an honest man. But there are irregularities that have caused us some discussion as we prepared for this ceremony.” He clears his throat and Verity fidgets in her seat. I look across at Oscar and see his jaw tense.
Mum grabs my knee. “Don’t worry,” she whispers. I don’t know if she’s reassuring me or herself. Her fingers feel like talons.
The judge gestures to one of his assistants, who brings the box containing Dad’s book to the table. The judge removes it from the box and gently places it on the empty dish of the scales. They wobble and sway for what feels like an eternity, and I wonder if they will ever still, but then they halt. The balance is perfect.
I gasp. He will be remembered. The people are on their feet, applauding, cheering, hugging each other. I stand too, an uncertain smile beginning on my face. Mum has her hands over her mouth, sobbing in relief.
Ink Page 19
