Ink

by Alice Broadway

  But the judge isn’t smiling. An assistant bangs a gavel and calls for order. We bustle into silence, confused. We’ve seen the outcome. What more could they have to say?

  The judge clears his throat.

  “As you can see, Joel Flint’s book weighs true. It tells us he should be remembered.” He gestures to the scales. “But it has come to our attention that there is more to this man’s story. More than has been told here today. Something is missing.”

  I see Verity look up at that, alert and afraid. Her fear is catching and spreads heat through my chest. I cling to Mum’s hand.

  “Let me hand proceedings over to the esteemed government investigator Jack Minnow.” The judge turns and Minnow steps forward. His face is a picture of serene malevolence. He clears his throat and begins, his voice resonating through the silent room.

  “Try as some might, it is hard to keep the secrets that are written on the body. For that which is written on the body will always be seen, one way or another.” He looks around at us all, and the room is breathless and silent. “There are those who would try to slither into our society, to worm their way into our lives and then inject their poison. They don’t look like snakes, but their bite is just as deadly. They walk among us like good men and women, but the truly good do not need to hide a thing.” Minnow’s shoulders draw back and I see the hyenas on his head bark with delight. The fire crackles and I think I hear them cackle.

  “What we have here,” he taps my dad’s book with disdain, letting the scales clang as they swing. “What we have here is a book of lies.”

  I can hear Mum’s breath, ragged and fast. Jack looks to his left and nods; an assistant leaves the hall and returns a moment later with a smartly dressed man wearing the same uniform as Minnow, but in a deep blue colour.

  “This,” Minnow moves to one side to let the man have space next to him, “is Tom Page, a government representative from Riverton, the town where Joel Flint grew up.” Mum exhales and I look at her face. Her eyes are wide. Mr Page takes centre stage and reads from a sheet of paper in his hands. His voice rings out.

  “Mr Minnow contacted me after an examination of Joel Flint’s book revealed hidden scarring and potentially doctored marks. Joel Flint, or the man who called himself Joel Flint, was once a resident of Riverton, and we were asked to examine our archives to see if we had any information as to what might be missing. We had to dig deeply, we had to make enquiries – but in the end we found what we needed.” The man looks across at Minnow who nods and crosses his arms over his chest.

  “Our records show that years ago a man matching Flint’s description but whose name was Joe Elliot was discovered to have links with” – he flinches as he reads – “the blank community. In fact, more specifically, he was found to have given shelter to a blank.”

  I swallow, not daring to look away; to see the faces of the people I love frozen in horror.

  “The blank had been caught stealing and was to be executed. Flint however, helped the blank to escape.” There are murmurs and the heat of the fire seems to have increased. “The records show that Flint was arrested and marked with the sign of the crow, which, as you know, means he was a forgotten.”

  Mum is whispering, her clammy hand clawing into mine. I hear her voice hissing, “No. No. No.” The rest of the room is talking, shouting, crying out and the gavel sounds again.

  “Not only this, but further examination of our records show that he had been colluding with the blanks for some time. After his arrest he left Riverton and – so reports say – went to live with the blanks, even … marrying one of their kind.” He spits the words out, disgust leaching into his bland tones. “Unconfirmed rumours claim that he had a child with this blank woman, and that when his deviant wife died, he changed his name and brought this half-bred baby with him to Saintstone. To live amongst us.” His eyes flick up and he looks straight at me. The whole room looks straight at me. “To live as one of us.”

  Blank.

  This can’t be true. It can’t be right. Not my father. He couldn’t.

  But then I look at Mum and she’s silent. Her eyes are glazed. I want to shake her, make her get to her feet and tell them. Tell them it’s not true; tell them I’m your baby. Tell them he wasn’t that man.

  I see Verity flash me a look of concern – doubt? Then she rises and resolutely steps towards Jack Minnow. He inclines his head to listen to her; he has to get close to be heard above the cacophony of the room. Simon and Julia are standing, watching Verity with naked fear on their faces. Eventually Minnow stands tall, looks at Verity with his head on one side and shrugs a little, conceding some ground. He turns to face the throng and raises his hands to quiet them. When everyone has stopped and is seated once more he speaks again.

  “I have been reminded by Miss Kohl that at this ceremony, while we can bring in additional evidence – evidence of records and other testimony – everything must come back to the book. So in order to continue in this vein, I need the proof. The evidence that is missing: the mark of the forgotten, which was so glaringly absent from Mr Flint’s book.” He glances back at Verity who returns his gaze calmly. “Of course, I have no desire to wrongly convict a man.” He looks so relaxed I can hardly bear it. “And without that mark, this lady is correct; we have no tangible, skin-based evidence of his crimes.”

  I look at Verity and want to run and hug her. I look across at where Oscar was, but he’s not sitting on the bench any more. I scan the room and see him stepping towards the dais.

  He has something in his hand.

  “Thank you, Mr Drew.” Minnow says smoothly. “I think this is what we were looking for.”

  The heat from the fire makes Oscar’s outline blurred and gleaming. He speaks to the judge, who nods; then he reaches out and drops something on to the scales on top of Dad’s book. I know what it is.

  The added weight shifts the balance and the book slams down.

  And my hope is outweighed by ink and skin that proclaims to the room that my father was not the man I knew.

  Minnow turns to me and calls out, “Leora Flint, I call upon you. Is this your father’s skin?” His eyes bore into mine. “Do you recognize this mark?”

  My father. Who was my father?

  I can feel the beating warmth and hear the spitting of wood splitting in the heat. I’m blinded for a moment by its light and the smoke stings my eyes. The fire roars in my ears and I think of Dad. Dad at the flayers, Dad teaching me to draw, Dad joking at the dinner table, Dad kissing Mum, Dad on the sofa with stitches in his head, Dad dying, Dad under the embalmers’ cloth.

  I open my mouth to speak but I can’t raise my voice loud enough. I wipe the sweat from my hot brow and look across at the book slung low on the scales. I clear my throat.

  Who was Joel Flint? My father: the protector of the blanks. He was a traitor. He was married to a blank and hid the truth every day of his life in Saintstone.

  Joe Elliot. Joel Flint.

  Joel Flint the forgotten.

  Father of Leora Flint, the blank.

  My stomach twists with revulsion and hate, and, with the smallest nod, I condemn him. Looking right at Minnow, feeling all eyes on me, I speak loudly. “Burn him.”

  I’m aware of my mother’s desperate cry and her hand ripping from mine. I see Minnow nod, and then watch him advance towards the pyre, pausing as the fire keepers stand aside. With all the strength that comes from his hatred of my father, Jack Minnow hurls his book into the flames. I watch each page curl, melt and singe. I watch my father burn.

  In the shouts and shoves after Minnow has done his duty I take in the glow of justice being done. I bask in the warmth of my father’s fiery reckoning. I never thought it would feel like this. People shout at me, someone tries to save him from the flames, but is held back. There’s a person calling my name. The sunlight shines through the rainbow glass. The hall is bathed in red.

  But all I can do is stand there. Hating this whole sick business.

  And most of all
, hating my father.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Somehow, I escape from the pandemonium and run back to the house. Hurriedly, I pack a bag, hurling things into it. I can’t stay here. I’m trying to work out where I can go, but I can’t think of anyone to run to. Maybe I don’t need anybody. It’s best not to love anyone; they only betray you. I don’t want to be the one standing there lifting my heart up in my hands for all to see. No. Hearts are for keeping inside – you can’t keep it safe if you give it away.

  I grab my coat but before I can leave the door flies open.

  “What have you done? You could have saved him. Just one word, and you could have protected him. How could you?”

  Mum is screaming, coming at me looking ready to kill. Her hair is wild and her eyes are red.

  Simon holds her back, making soothing noises. They’re all here – here to pull me apart. To tell me what a terrible thing I’ve done. That one nod that broke everything. Maybe I should be feeling bad, or at least feeling sad for how they’re hurting. But I can’t cry. I can’t scream. I can’t feel.

  “You knew everything, didn’t you?” I hiss at her blotchy face. “You manipulated me – you manipulated it all. Who are you? You’ve lied to me my whole life – about what I am. His blood is on your hands, not mine. You’re as guilty as he was.”

  I try to walk past with my bag on my shoulder but Simon reaches for my arm.

  “Leora, wait. You will come to regret what you’ve just said – you need to hear the whole story. I think you should apologize to your mum, don’t you?”

  I laugh at the strangeness of his calm and the madness of his words. I shake my head.

  “No I don’t think so. I don’t think I will apologize. And anyway, she” – I nod my head towards the ragged-looking woman in front of me – “she is not my mum. Or didn’t you hear? My real mother was a blank.”

  I walk out of the house and no one calls for me to come back.

  I go to the museum. I creep into the room of stories, the one that Mel showed me, and when it’s closing time I hide myself among the shelves. I sleep fitfully with my head on my bag, my shawl covering me and the guardians of the fables looking down on me. When morning comes I wait until the place is busy enough for me to leave unnoticed and I head to the government building. There’s no point putting it off.

  I sign the forms at the government inkers and let him scrape away my father’s existence from my family tree. I am left with a cuckoo roosting on my back. I wanted him to get rid of Mum’s name too – maybe I should just call her Sophie now – but he needed to cover it with someone else’s name and I don’t know who the woman is – was – who should take her rightful place at the top of my tree. The usurper will have to dwell there a little longer.

  While I’m there the inker receives a message. Someone who ranks higher than him has instructed that he is to add a mark to my already throbbing skin. I assent. So I get the mark of an eagle, to show that I stood for the truth, even when it meant forgetting my own family. He also touches up the marks that were botched by the scar on my hand.

  As I go to leave the building a familiar voice calls my name. I turn and see Mel. Her face is sad but she’s smiling and has her arms out ready to embrace me. She beckons me into a plain and tired-looking office room and offers to make me a drink, which I accept gratefully; I’ve not had anything to eat or drink today.

  “I heard you were here. I wanted to see how you are. Well, how are you, Leora?”

  I can’t answer her. She hands me a steaming cup of coffee and I take it in silence.

  “Not too sore I hope?” She’s looking at my new marks. “I saw the tattoo you gave Jack – it’s a beauty. It seems your instincts were right; you’re a gifted inker.” She takes a sip of her drink and looks at me with a whole world of worry and affection in her gaze.

  This feels good. I still have someone. Someone who knows the truth but doesn’t hate me. “I still think you would have been an incredible flayer though.” I can hear the regret in her voice and I frown as I look at her face. She looks sad. She looks tired.

  “Where’s Isolda?” I ask.

  “She’s having some lessons.” Mel sips her coffee and smiles that sad smile again. “There are some things that even I can’t teach her.” She sighs and looks right into my eyes. “You were brave yesterday, Leora.”

  I shrug. I don’t feel brave. I feel angry. I feel like a fool. I feel betrayed.

  “What else could I do?” I look down into my mug.

  Mel’s voice is gentle. “You did the right thing. I knew you would, remember? It was awful to find out the way you did, but you did the right thing. Your father may have been a good man in some ways, but he did not lead a good life.”

  I look up at her. “Did you know, then?”

  Mel nods. “I did. But, Leora, I couldn’t tell you. And I didn’t have to. I knew you would do the right thing. You’ve impressed me. You really have.” I look at her, trying to read her face. “Now,” she puts a warm hand on my knee, and I wonder how she can bear to touch me, knowing what I am. “I have a confession of my own to make.” I force myself to look curious. “The government have been interested in you since your test results came back. You could have had your pick of the trades. In fact, I think there’s only one thing you lack: if you had confidence – if you knew how good you are – you would be the full package.”

  I flush and shake my head. “Why would the government care about me?”

  Mel laughs at my confusion. “Why would the government care about someone with such talent? Someone who could do so much for the sake of our community? Don’t be naïve, Leora; your potential was obvious. We were certain of that. There was just one thing that we weren’t so certain of. Your loyalty.”

  I frown and take a sip of coffee.

  “We’re not quite as clueless as you thought,” she goes on. “The government knew all about your dad – they have done for some time – and they know more than came out just now. He was a dangerous radical who we’ve been watching for years.” She looks right at me. “His time living with the blanks seems to have consolidated his already deluded beliefs. He came to Saintstone, not to work and begin again with a clean slate, but to intercede for the blanks. He wheedled his way into the hearts and minds of vulnerable and foolish men and women, who trusted him. He told them he was a freedom fighter: a warrior for peace and equality. But of course, he was trying to prepare the way for war. You know that’s what the blanks want?” She pauses, checking my response. “So yes, Leora, we knew all about your father. And your mother – your real mother.”

  The coffee cup is starting to burn my hands as I grasp it tightly. But I need to keep holding it; I need something solid. I need to feel something.

  “With your background there was no guarantee you would dedicate your skills to serve society. You have rebel’s blood, Leora.” And just for a moment her face betrays her; she’s disgusted by my blankness. “We couldn’t know what seeds your father had planted in your mind. We needed to wait and see where your allegiance lay.”

  “We?” I say. My voice sounds hoarse. “You’ve just been testing me?”

  She shifts in her seat and leans back. “I’ve been mentoring you. Supporting and helping you.” She searches my face for a response.

  “Is that why you wanted me to read that story? ‘The Sleeping Princess’?”

  Mel tips her head. “Sometimes parents think they’re doing the right thing. But some secrets shouldn’t be kept hidden. Sometimes the children know best.” She smiles gently. “I knew you would understand.”

  “Mel, I’ve lost everything.” My voice shakes and I have to remind myself of my vow to hide my heart – let nothing in, let nothing out.

  “I know it must feel that way. Believe me, I know what it’s like to have nothing except for the community. It’s worth it, Leora – what you gain outweighs the cost every time.” She reaches out to rub my knee again. “I promise.”

  “Leora, the people are so af
raid. They fear a blank uprising; they know they’ve lost their way.” Her gaze is fixed on my face. “Your father stood for everything we fear and most despise. But now that they know where your loyalty lies, the government are ready to give you a prized place in society. A role custom-built around you and your myriad skills. A half blank girl, shown mercy by the benevolent Mayor Longsight, turning her back on all that is dark and evil and embracing all that is good and open.”

  I shake my head. “But I don’t want to work in the government. I … I want to be an inker. Or wanted to.” My dreams and ambitions feel like a lifetime ago.

  Mel laughs as though I’ve told a joke. “Oh, Leora! This wouldn’t be a desk job. For you – well, for you we could offer a most remarkable post. One that uses your skills so perfectly it’s as though you were born for it.” She tilts her head. “As perhaps you were.”

  Chapter Forty

  As I walk through the bitingly cold streets, I try to make some kind of decision about the offer I’ve just received. Is that what I am now: the perfect member of society, the ideal candidate to uphold our values?

  Your father stood for everything we fear and most despise. I think of Obel suddenly, about what he said to me about knowing my dad, and I wonder if he knew the truth all along too. He must have done. Hot anger rises in me, and I change my course and head towards the studio.

  I walk through the shop door and the bell rings. Obel is inking a customer – business as usual. He looks up at me for the briefest moment and then studiously finishes the section he’s on. It’s an anticlimax after all my righteous anger. The minutes tick by. He cleans up the client and sends him on his way. All without speaking to me. He removes his gloves and puts them in the bin. When the bell of the door signals that the customer has gone he sighs and puts his head in his hands.

  “What were you thinking, girl?” He says it gently. “What on earth were you thinking?”

  He walks over to me and I see his hands flex – what’s he going to do to me? And then he pulls me to him in the tightest hug. I hear him whispering curses, feel his tears hit my head and he sniffs.