The Gracekeepers

by Kirsty Logan

  “Yes, Jarrow. Of course it’s Ainsel’s. I didn’t mean to—well, we didn’t…”

  “No matter, no matter. Ah, but perhaps I should not call you our north child any more? Clearly you are a woman now.” He chuckled as if he’d made a joke. “My Ainsel is a fine-looking boy, don’t think I don’t know. You’re young, you’re in love—well, it’s not as if you’re the first couple who couldn’t wait until their wedding night!”

  There was a storm in North’s ears, blowing in rhythm with her heartbeat. She took a breath.

  “Are you well, my north child? Is the pregnancy tiring you out? Is the baby addling your brains?” His expression was pure concern.

  North ached a smile across her face. “I am quite well, Jarrow, thank you. But I should go and lie down, just to be safe. To protect my—Ainsel’s—baby.”

  Red Gold went to speak, but his words were drowned out by a louder sound: the long, low blast of a horn. North’s guts twisted and the baby kicked a drumbeat on her ribs. The military were boarding.

  A thud-tink—Red Gold’s cup tumbled to the deck and broke. He was casting anxious glances at the hatch—but North knew that there was no need. If anyone could smarm the charmless military men, it was Avalon.

  The schooner swayed in its moorings as the military boarded. One, two—five men in all, judging by the sound of their boots. Only the military would be stupid enough to wear boots on board; clearly the thud of heavy feet was more important than having a decent grip on the deck.

  “Dampling!” commanded a voice. “On deck!”

  Two strides, and Red Gold was out of the cabin. North followed him reluctantly. It was better to come to attention before you were commanded, but that didn’t mean it was pleasant. As she walked she hunched her shoulders to hide her bump. She wasn’t sure why; even the military couldn’t command her not to be pregnant. But if there was anything she didn’t want to have to discuss with them, it was the state of her womb. With the military it was best to be as bland as possible. North tried to imagine herself as a thin shell full of seawater and fluff.

  On the Excalibur’s deck, the military men were lined up along the stern, as stiff and grumpy as crows in their starched black uniforms. Avalon simpered at their side, hands folded on her round belly, her smile beatific. North strained her ears in the direction of her coracle, willing her bear to stay silent. If he woke to find her still gone he might be upset. Growls and gleaming teeth would not impress the military, and there was nothing to stop them taking the bear away from her.

  She tried to breathe steadily. Her bear was safe.

  The military captain paced the deck, prodding the off-kilter wheel, scraping a fingernail of paint off the flaking mast, tapping at the wooden hull where it was rotting. He seemed much taller and straighter than the other men, but North wasn’t sure if this was an optical illusion. Maybe he selected short, awkward men to enhance his own bearing. His actions were so studied, so exaggerated, that he seemed a parody of himself: North peered at him to make sure that it wasn’t Cash or Dosh trying out a particularly convincing outfit for the clown military show. Panicked laughter tickled in North’s throat, and she swallowed it down hard.

  The captain lifted the folded sail from its cubby. From a distance, in the darkness, the sail made a lushly exotic big top, but up close the silk was spattered with wrinkled pocks and different colored threads where tears had been darned. In the circus, nothing should be seen close up.

  “What is this, dampling?”

  North glanced at Red Gold; he was frowning at the captain, unsure how to answer. The truth seemed cheeky, but anything except the truth was unacceptable.

  “A sail?” said the ringmaster.

  “Are you asking me or telling me?”

  “It’s a sail. And it’s also our big top—or it will be, if you fine gentlemen allow us to perform this evening.”

  The captain thudded across the deck. He stopped short of Red Gold; he probably wasn’t used to being the smaller man in a conflict, but the ringmaster dwarfed everyone.

  “Is that disrespect, dampling?”

  The military captain stood as steady as an anchor, as if the deck of the boat was the crest of a hill. But behind him the other military men swayed with the motion of the boat, fidgeting with the weapons holstered at their belts: knives, clubs, a cleaver that looked more suited to hacking meat than subduing damplings. They were not subtle in their intimidation.

  Red Gold gave up his attempt at boisterous charm and bowed his head like a chastised child.

  “No, sir. It’s the mainsail, sir.”

  North saw Avalon avert her eyes from the ringmaster and shift uncomfortably in her beatific pose. Her pride seemed to have been knocked, and something in this knocked North too. She bowed her head so that Red Gold would not see the hot rush of shame that heated her cheeks: shame for her shabby home, shame for her cowed captain and his faithless wife, shame for all of their silences.

  Then she remembered Callanish during the Resting: the calm hands, the steady voice. The gracekeeper didn’t bow her head, and neither would North. She lifted her chin and straightened her back. Soon the military would tire of them, and she would settle her bear, and she would find Melia, and they would all perform, and then they would eat and drink as if this had never happened. They just had to grit their teeth until then.

  “You know why we’ve boarded, dampling,” sighed the captain. “You may as well give it up.”

  North felt a flutter, the thrust of a fledgling foot. She locked her fingers over her belly as if to still it. There was a movement in the corner of her eye. She glanced up and was surprised to see that Avalon was mirroring her action.

  For a moment, North and Avalon looked at each other, mother to mother. North knew that Avalon’s heart was coal and that the flames would catch them all; but at that moment her own chest felt full of fire too.

  The military captain strode over to Avalon and laid his heavy arm across her shoulders. After a moment he patted her belly in an avuncular way, directing an expression bump-ward that was half sneer and half grimace. Avalon simpered a smile up at him, but North could see the tension in her arms, the twitch of a muscle in her cheek. He squeezed Avalon’s shoulder and addressed Red Gold.

  “It seems you have a lot to lose here, dampling, so let’s not play games. Captain to captain. For you are a captain”—he cast his eyes around the scrubbed and peeling deck of the Excalibur—“of a sort. There’s been a report of activity from your convoy. What have you to say about that?”

  Red Gold kept his eyes down. “Nothing, sir.”

  “Nothing, is it?” He motioned to his line of military men; one of them produced a roll of fabric. The captain let go of Avalon, then unrolled the fabric and consulted the rows of neatly printed numbers.

  “So, dampling. You’re confirming that if my men were to check your convoy, we would find—let’s see—thirteen crewmembers?”

  He glanced up. Seeing Red Gold’s expression of panic, he made a point of frowning down at the fabric again. “Shall I name them for you?”

  “We did lose one crewmember. There was a storm, sir.”

  “Was it a recent storm, hmm? The past few nights, perhaps?”

  “No, sir.”

  “And yet you did not update the military records. You have no documentation whatsoever.”

  “No, sir. Sorry, sir.”

  “Is that not part of the Resting procedure, dampling? Is it not—and correct me if I’m wrong, though I rarely am—is it not impossible to conduct a Resting at a graceyard without the proper documentation?”

  Without looking, the captain passed the fabric back to one of his men. He stepped toward Red Gold—careful, still, not to get too close.

  “You’re right, sir, but we didn’t…” The ringmaster trailed off. He glanced up at Avalon, but her expression stayed blank.

  “Didn’t have the documentation, or didn’t conduct a proper Resting? Think carefully on your answer, dampling. Someone is in serious tr
ouble here, and I suspect it is you.”

  “I…sir, we…”

  “And we have not even begun to discuss this morning’s transgression, have we? Let me explain. Before it left port this morning, the revival boat Stella Maris submitted a report. This report states that the Stella Maris’s crew has increased by one. This one new member claims she is from the Excalibur—which, you may have noticed, is this very convoy. The problem, captain”—and he made the word sound like a curse—“the problem is that there was no report from you about your crew reducing. Do you see how we must be sure of these numbers? People cannot be allowed to slip through the cracks in the deck. Before you make me promises, I suggest you check your own boats.”

  “I don’t…I haven’t checked today, sir.”

  “Oh, dampling. Here I am, presented with a captain who cannot even control his own crew—well, it would be irresponsible of me to allow such a man to retain ownership of a convoy, would it not?”

  From the harbor, chains clanked and birds shrieked and ships scraped into their moorings; from the other boats, waves slapped and damplings called and fishing lines squealed. But on the Excalibur, they all choked on silence.

  Underneath it all, North heard the low vibrations of her bear beginning to growl. It took everything in her not to glance over at her coracle. She did not dare look up to see if Red Gold could hear it too.

  “Shall we—” Red Gold coughed the waver from his throat. “Shall we go belowdecks, sir? I believe I have the proper documentation there.”

  “Ah, now there’s a good dampling. I knew you had it all along.”

  The two captains disappeared, and North did not need to hear the clink of coins to know that Red Gold was saving the Excalibur once more. The bribe took only moments, but it would take the circus many months to save up for another visit from the military.

  Realizing that there would be no need to wield their weapons, the military men had lost interest in the Excalibur. Without orders from their captain they didn’t dare to disembark and head for their own boat, but they turned their gaze to the island instead of fixing it on North and Avalon.

  Avalon swayed over to North; North gripped the handles on the gunwale to steady herself for the onslaught.

  “Are you well, north child?” said Avalon in an undertone. “Is the baby well?”

  North tried to hide her surprise. “Yes, thank you, Avalon. And yours?”

  Avalon sighed. “Weathering the storm. It’s a tough one. Half ringmaster, after all.”

  “You don’t need to weather anything now. The storm is over,” whispered North. From her coracle came no growls, no bumps or roars. She felt the sun’s warmth on her shoulders; saw its bright glints catching in her eyelashes. “Look around you, Avalon. It’s over.”

  With a thud of boots and an out-of-tune whistle, the captain emerged from belowdecks.

  “Did you think the storm had passed, little urchin?” crooned Avalon into North’s ear. “We’re in the eye. And just you wait until we emerge. It will be glorious.”

  North pulled back from Avalon, her hip bumping hard against the gunwale. The convoy was small, but she could still stay as far away from Avalon as possible.

  The captain nodded to his men, who filed messily off on to their own boat, hands on their weapons. One or two glanced back, all the better to remember Avalon, who had a conventional sort of beauty, North supposed. One of the men glanced over at North and she stared at the deck, trying to be invisible.

  The captain stepped on to his boat and turned around, one foot still on the Excalibur, straddling the boats. It was an awkward pose but he’d chosen it now, and it would be weak to fidget.

  “I hope I won’t have to see you again, dampling.”

  “No, sir. Yes, sir,” muttered Red Gold, louder than he must have meant.

  The captain paused, one foot still on the deck.

  The Excalibur teetered.

  “I’ll be watching,” said the captain.

  And then his boot left the schooner, and the military boat sailed on to the next convoy, and without all those booted feet the Excalibur felt light, light enough to float up to the clouds. Relief made North giddy.

  Avalon turned her back to North and pressed her body into Red Gold’s arms, stretching up to whisper something in his ear.

  That beast, North heard, and something about danger. Before she could separate more words from the rapid crooning, Avalon turned and went back into the Excalibur’s cabin. Red Gold was left staring at nothing. He didn’t seem to know what to do with his arms now that his wife was not in them.

  North wanted to thank him but her tongue would not form the words. Her coracle bobbed in the swell of the military’s boat, silent now. She needed to return to it but she hesitated, afraid of what she knew would be missing from it.

  “It was Melia, wasn’t it?” she asked Red Gold. “On the revival boat. She’s gone.”

  He did not reply. North had so many questions that they tangled in her mouth and she said nothing at all. If Ainsel would not ask his father to call off the wedding, she had no choice but to get married. Angering the ringmaster meant she would be kicked off the Excalibur, with no food, no shelter, no payment to buy her way on to a new boat, and no bear to perform with even if she made it to another circus. All she could do now was go back to her coracle and begin the routines of another day: feeding, washing, dressing, performing.

  She stepped off the boat’s stern and on to the tow-chain, but Red Gold’s hand on her ankle stopped her. She glanced up at him, surprised. He seemed surprised too, as he pulled back his hand and placed it on the stern.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry, North. I didn’t know about Melia. That she was planning to leave us. There are coins missing from my cabin. She must have bought her way on board.” Even though his hand was steady on the stern, North could see how it shook. “It’s over. There’s no use in weeping for those who have chosen to leave. Now go and tend to your bear. He will be fractious.”

  The schooner caught in the swell of a retreating boat and North wobbled on the chain, one foot slipping off to dip into the water. To her shock, Red Gold seized her by the shoulders and lifted her on to the Excalibur’s deck.

  “Damn it, North!” he snapped. “Be careful. Don’t you think I’ve lost too much in this ocean already?”

  Surprise stole North’s words, but Red Gold did not seem to notice; after depositing her on the deck, he turned away from her to look out toward the island.

  “When will he be tame?”

  North froze. “He is tame.”

  “Don’t lie to me. We both heard the growls.”

  “I…he was confused. I left him alone for too long. It’s my fault, not his.” North tried to keep the pleading note out of her voice. “You know he’s safe, Jarrow. He’s never hurt anyone.”

  Red Gold sighed. “Oh, my sweet north child. He is a beast, and he will always be wild.” He turned to North, reaching his meaty hands out to her. “The bear can never be tame. But you can.” He took her hands in his. “You’ll soon wonder how you ever lived at sea,” he said. “You’ll learn to sleep on land. You’ll learn to love the steadiness of earth, the lullaby of trees in the wind. You’ll watch the afternoon swing a bar of sunlight up the wall, and you’ll wonder how you ever lived on a deck that never stays still. Your world will become rock and shell and trees. You’ll love it, North. You will make it your home.”

  Inside North, the baby woke. It wriggled, it shifted; it turned a somersault in the ocean of her insides.

  “Yes, I will,” said North to Jarrow. “I will make my home.”

  18

  FLITCH

  When Flitch first let the gracekeeper girl on to his boat, the moon was full. The days had slipped by, and when the moon rolled its round white eye around again, he knew something had to change—so he’d shown her that he knew about her scars. That she was his little fish. But when the sun replaced the moon the next morning, things slipped back, just like the other d
ays. They bartered, they cooked, they sailed. Tonight the moon’s eye would roll around again. Two months was enough to eat up all the unsaid things between two people, but for the two of them the silence remained. She would not let him beneath her skin.

  Luckily for Flitch, he was a good observer. She’d had her blood twice, he knew it—though he was man enough not to let her know that he knew. Flitch was like that. He was a good man, a proper man, no matter what people said about messengers. The other messengers were like that, but he was not. Well, he had been like that at times, but the ocean was vast, and good at keeping secrets.

  Anyone could see that he was a good man by the way he had been treating Callanish. Even after she’d taken him into her bed on their very first meeting. Anyone else would have thought that was an invitation to more. Anyone else would have expected it, would have made her—well, would not have been a man, like he had been. He had been good to her. She’d better know it. And when the time came, she’d better show it.

  —

  Despite the mist and the silence and the squid eating their lobster, Flitch did not lose heart. He was a messenger, after all. He’d had tougher times than this, and he’d have tougher ones in the future. This was nothing.

  But a gracekeeper and a messenger were from different worlds. Flitch hadn’t seen it at first. He’d watched Callanish gut mackerel, stitch up the sail, drink as fast as he could fill her cup—and he’d thought that she could handle it. He’d thought there was a shark’s heart inside her. But it was all a shell. Slowly, slowly, he watched the softness creep into her. He’d said that he would get her to her island, and he would—but at their current pace she would soften and crumble like dry sand before they even sighted the coast.

  “We need to hitch a lift,” he announced over their breakfast of boiled seaweed and fried baby squid—well, if the squid were going to eat his lobster, then he would eat their young in return.

  The squid was tough, and Callanish chewed and swallowed carefully before speaking. “On a military tanker?”