Origin

by Dave Higgins

  The farmers handed over the cords holding their pigs.

  Edmond juddered back and forth a few inches as each string of pigs headed in a different direction, snuffling for something worth eating. He was often jealous of the sheep boys; herding was much easier with pack animals like sheep. “Which pub you going to?”

  “Dunno yet.”

  “Try the Snake in the Grass.” Edmond pointed at a slightly less brown building, a few drunks decorating the road outside it. “Cheapest and least watered-down.”

  The farmers sauntered in that direction.

  Edmond smiled. He’d get a copper from the tavern keeper, too, for sending people that way. The Snake wasn’t the cheapest, and the drinks were more water than ale, but that suited Edmond. If the farmers got drunk enough to pass out, he might be accused of pickpocketing when he tried to collect his wages.

  After a few false starts, he set all three strings of pigs moving toward his sickly one. Tying the ringer into the middle of Hairy Ears’ sounder, he herded them back through the gate and toward the rich district. The rich knew how to live: their streets were cleaner; their houses were taller; there weren’t any holes in their walls. Edmond marvelled at the colours of the walls; they were almost white, some with stripes as decoration. How could anyone ever earn enough money they could afford to decorate the outside of their house?

  On either side, merchants called from their stores, advertising clothes, tableware, and other luxuries. One even shouted about his magical sculptures. Edmond had looked at them once; they hadn’t seemed very magical to him. More ugly. But when he’d told the storekeeper, he’d been chased away, so he kept it to himself now.

  Steering the pigs down a side-alley cleaner than some of the plates Edmond had eaten off, he led them to a familiar tree. The tree crept upward, misshapen and crooked, its branches leaning over the outer wall of the building beside it. Edmond tied the pigs to its trunk and climbed to the widest branch, which leaned out even further than the others. Far enough to overlook the window of the building itself.

  A dozen boys and girls between the ages of five and seven sat at small desks, facing toward the other end of the room. They shuffled in their seats, not paying attention to the man at the front of the room.

  Apparently unconcerned, the man stood at a blackboard, occasionally turning to read a book from his desk. Ears like fancy jug handles stuck from the ring of straggly white hair left on his head. Another smudge of chalk joined the patterns streaked across his black robe.

  Edmond’s gaze locked onto the strange symbols written in the board. He’d been staring at them for weeks, ever since he’d found the crooked tree. The lines the man drew on the board meant something. They were called writing. Edmond knew that much. He also knew they were important. Great people, the ones who made a difference in the world, knew how to read and write. And Edmond would be great someday.

  But first, he needed to learn those symbols. Without them, he wouldn’t be able to fulfil his destiny and change the world for the better. He wasn’t sure how he was going to change the world yet; reading or writing would be a part of it, though.

  He squinted at the board. All the symbols looked the same to him, as if he was looking at them through a thick fog. The teacher had explained the difference between the symbols to the class many times over the previous weeks, but Edmond still couldn’t grasp it. One sign was A, and one was V, but they looked the same.

  “What are all these pigs doing here?”

  Edmond squirmed around in surprise. He couldn’t let someone steal the pigs. He scuttled back along the branch as quickly as he could and climbed down the tree.

  Three boys in velvet doublets glared at him as he descended, each blonde and spotless as if recently scrubbed. They stared down their noses at him, the way Edmond looked at things that stuck to his shoe but without the slight curiosity whether it was edible.

  “You there,” the boy with long hair said. “What were you doing up there?”

  “I was only having a look,” Edmond said. “I’m sorry.”

  The three boys gasped in unison.

  “You were having a look?” Long Hair said. “Do you know who’s in there? The sons and daughters of judges and dukes are in there. My sister is in there. Don’t you know your place?”

  “I wasn’t hurting anyone,” Edmond said. “I only wanted to see what they were learning.”

  The boys gasped again.

  “Did you hear that?” Long Hair said. “He was stealing learning from us.”

  “I wasn’t stealing anything. Besides, you’re not even in there.” Edmond knew at once that it’d been the wrong thing to say.

  “Poor children need to know their place,” Long Hair said. “And thieves need to be punished.”

  “I’m sorry,” Edmond said. “I’ll just take my pigs and go.”

  “No,” Long Hair said. “You need to be punished.”

  “I didn’t do anything wrong,” Edmond said.

  Long Hair reached behind his back and produced a long, golden knife. “The penalty for thievery is a hand.”

  Edmond bolted before the boy had even finished speaking. He heard shouts as the boys ran after him, but he didn’t look back. Calling on years of experience keeping up while his mother escaped another mob, he sprinted around a corner and across the main street to another alley. He could already feel his lungs ache, but the situational modifier from not wanting his hand cut off did wonders for his Willpower. All he needed was to get far enough ahead to lose them.

  His hopes were dashed when he glanced back and saw them sprinting down the same alley. They were running faster than he was, cutting away at his head start. Edmond kept going, looking for any way out.

  Ahead, two boys threw cowpats at each other. Edmond dashed through the middle of their barrage as fast as he could. Glancing back, he saw all three of his pursuers attempt to do the same.

  One caught a brown ball straight in the face and went down, but the other two got through unscathed.

  Edmond kept running, his attention on the street in front of him. There had to be some other way he could use his Luck. He spotted a man selling geese from a stall. Remembering the swan that had saved him in the last village, Edmond sprinted for the stall. As he passed, he yanked a pin from the door of a cage and carried on, stealing quick looks over his shoulder.

  The stall owner stepped into the street behind him, shouting some of those words Dobb didn’t like. However, the door to the cage stayed closed.

  After waving his fist at Edmond, the stall owner replaced the pin. Apparently thinking Edmond’s pursuers were his friends, he grabbed the stockier boy as he ran past.

  Now Edmond only had one boy after him. One was enough, though. Edmond wasn’t strong enough to defeat a small child, let alone one bigger than him armed with a knife.

  He staggered across the next street into another alley. His lungs spasmed and rebelled as he stumbled into a wall. From behind, a hand yanked him around.

  The last boy raised his knife. “I’m going to make you pay, filthy urchin.”

  An instant later, an angular woman in a black dress rounded the corner and grabbed the boy’s ear.

  With a squeal, he dropped his knife and reached for his ear.

  Using the boy’s ear as a lever, the woman spun him around to face her. “Heathclyf Pease, what do you think you’re doing?” Her voice matched her acid demeanour.

  “Just playing, Nanny.”

  “With knives?” The woman snatched it up. “Where did you get this? From your father’s desk, no doubt. This is for opening letters, not stomachs. What would your father think if you got filthy peasant blood all over it?”

  Edmond took the opportunity to back away, moving far enough down the alley that he could turn and sprint away.

  Chapter 3

  Charm

  Hours later, Edmond crept back to the crooked tree. If it had only been angry farmers to deal with, he’d have abandoned the pigs; but his mother was expecting a healthy
pig and her ire was worth the risk the boys hadn’t given up.

  Surprisingly, the pigs still milled around the base of the tree where he’d tied them. They grunted hungrily, then squealed when they saw him. Maybe the rich brats hadn’t thought of anything to do to pigs. That or they hadn’t wanted to get dirty. He bent to the trunk of the tree to untie his charges.

  Edmond’s heart juddered as a large hand clamped onto his shoulder. He squirmed, trying to struggle free, but he wasn’t strong enough.

  The hand spun him around to face the owner of it.

  His captor had grey hair neatly combed over one side. Unlike the teacher’s black robes, this man’s robes were spotless. His grey brows ruffled and even his moustache seemed to be frowning. “What is the meaning of this?”

  “I’m just collecting my pigs, sir,” Edmond said. “I’ll be out of your way in a moment.”

  “You will not leave, urchin. I’m Blakelie Chancellor, headmaster of this school. Several conscientious students informed me you were spying on classes.”

  “I didn’t do anything wrong.” Edmond’s words sounded hollow, even to him.

  “You were stealing education from my school.” Chancellor pulled a whip-like switch from his belt with practised ease and flicked it at Edmond’s legs.

  The stinging pain made Edmond yelp. He squirmed again, trying to get away.

  “Stay still.” Chancellor struck at Edmond repeatedly.

  Edmond cried out in pain, tears streaming down his cheeks. His vision was so blurry, he didn’t see the second man approach until he was nearly on top of them.

  “What’s going on here, headmaster? This boy isn’t one of our students. Why are you thrashing him?”

  The voice seemed familiar. Edmond brushed the tears from his eyes and saw the teacher he’d been spying on earlier. The man’s face was creased with concern.

  Chancellor scowled. “He tried to steal learning from your class, Mr Frett. I’m surprised you didn’t spot him through the open window.”

  “You know me,” Frett said. “I get so wrapped up in teaching young minds, I don’t notice my robes are on fire.”

  Chancellor whipped Edmond across the shin one last time before letting him go. “Don’t come back, boy.”

  “I won’t.” Edmond bent to untie his pigs. When he straightened Chancellor was gone, but the teacher stood a few paces away, watching him.

  “You were spying on my class?” the teacher asked.

  “Sorry, sir,” Edmond stared at his feet.

  “Why? Do you want to learn to read?”

  “It’s important. All great people can read; everyone knows that.”

  “And you want to be someone great? What are your Wisdom and Intelligence levels?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Frett moved behind Edmond. When Edmond looked over his shoulder, the teacher’s eyes were squinted up.

  “Just as I thought, only the default levels. You don’t have the stats for book learning, boy. Stick to pig herding.”

  “I’m not going to be a pig herder all my life.” Edmond faced the teacher. “I don’t care what my attributes say. I’m going to do something great with my life. If I can’t learn to read here, I’ll do it somewhere else. It might take me ten years, but I’ll learn.”

  Frett frowned for a moment, and Edmond worried he might have gone too far. Then the teacher smiled. “Good lad. I wish I had some like you in my class. How do you know you’re destined for such greatness?”

  “Inside,” Edmond said. “Ever since I was little, I heard stories of great warriors and magicians. I can’t be like them, though. But I heard about great scholars and knew I could do that. I can study things and find out their secrets. Learning things is hard, but knowing them is fun.”

  The teacher stared at Edmond for a moment, then reached up and took off a necklace Edmond hadn’t even seen he’d been wearing. “Do you know what this is, lad?”

  Edmond stared at the tiny metal cylinder on the end of a length of string. It didn’t look like much, whatever it was. “A necklace?”

  “It’s a charm,” the teacher said. “A learning charm. It doesn’t make studying easier, but it can help you to concentrate.”

  Edmond stared, fingers itching with the desire to take it. “I don’t have any money to buy it.”

  “Then we’ll call it an investment.” Frett held the necklace out. “When you’re a great scholar, you can repay me.”

  Edmond put the charm around his neck, hiding it under his sackcloth tunic. “How will I know if it’s working?”

  The teacher pulled a scroll from the depths of his suit and handed it over. “Can you read this?”

  Edmond’s fingers trembled a little as he tilted the scroll to get any light in the shadows. He could see letters and pictures drawn across it in a child’s hand. “This is reading?”

  “It’s the first step,” the teacher said. “Now, run along and don’t come back. If the headmaster catches you here again, he’ll put you in the stocks.”

  Edmond gasped. He’d seen how badly the stocks could get. People started by throwing rotten fruit, but when they ran out they found rocks instead. Gathering up his pigs, he started away. Three steps later, he turned back. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Remember, don’t come back.”

  “Not until I’m a great scholar.”

  Edmond hurried away with his pigs. He was already overdue at the Snake in the Grass. If he wasn’t there when the farmers staggered out, they might call the watch; then he’d be in real trouble. He tucked the scroll inside the secret pocket he’d made in his tunic to hide things from his parents. Sometimes, the crust hidden in that pocket had been the only thing keeping him from starvation.

  Yanking at the cords one after another, he made for the inn. As he rounded the final corner, he realised that he hadn’t removed the healthy pig from the sounder yet. The three farmers emerged ahead of him, reeling and swaying.

  Before they noticed him, Edmond tugged the sounders back around the corner and detached the plumpest pig he could see. After tying it to a fence, he struggled over to the farmers, the pigs trotting and squealing around him.

  The farmers peered at Edmond as he approached, their eyes wavery.

  “Here you are,” Edmond said. “All your pigs, safe and sound. That’ll be two coppers.”

  Ruddy Nose produced two coins from his pocket on the third attempt and handed them over. “Nicely done, boy.”

  “My pleasure, sir,” Edmond said.

  Hairy Ears produced another coin. “And one more for being honest.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Edmond knuckled his forehead and hurried away before the farmers could notice his blush.

  Collecting his healthy pig, he hustled it back to the hovel through the emptying streets. When he got there, his parents were arguing again. It seemed to be what they enjoyed doing most; with only a single candle lighting the hovel and no form of entertainment to speak of, shouting at one another gave them something to do.

  The neighbours had complained at first. After Dobb knocked holes in their walls, they stopped, though.

  “Pig.” Patty pointed to Edmond. “A nice healthy pig. What did I tell you, Dobb?”

  “Good boy.” Dobb ruffled Edmond’s hair hard enough to pull some of it loose.

  “This will buy us the Scratchums we need to get us out of this place,” Patty said. “I can feel it in my bones.”

  She’d felt things in her bones at least a dozen times before. And a dozen more times there had been omens in the way the roosters were crowing that day. Edmond knew better than to ask them to buy food with some of the money. So tonight’s dinner would be the cabbage he’d stored under his straw last week.

  Dobb and Patty raced out, too excited even to argue about which Scratchums dealer to spend the money at.

  After enjoying the silence for a moment, Edmond carried the sputtering candle from the table to his bed. Usually, only rich people had beeswax candles, but Patty had convince
d a peddler to sell her this one for only three coppers. The light was bound to make him a better scholar; he’d already learnt that beeswax smelt like ears and he hadn’t even read anything yet.

  He pressed the candle base to the corner of his bed, far enough away that it wouldn’t set fire to the mattress if it fell, then he pulled the scroll from his hidden pocket. Despite the gloom, the fog had lifted; the difference between the A and V symbols was obvious, and he could see a double-V symbol too. Each of the symbols had a crude picture next to it; beside the A, an apple; and beside the V, a vase.

  Edmond scrunched up his brow. What had the teacher said in the classes? The symbols were the sound at the start of the words. His jaw dropped.

  He’d remembered. Sometimes, he forgot what he wanted in the time it took him to walk into a shop, but he’d remembered something the teacher said ages ago. A warm tingly sensation filled his chest; this must be how scholars felt when they discovered something.

  Hands trembling, he tilted the scroll. So, the A was an ‘ah’ sound, and the V was a ‘vuh’ sound. Edmond felt a desire to dance. If Mr Frett had been there, he wouldn’t have been able to stop thanking him. Edmond had taken the first real step in learning to read. He was going to be a great scholar; he just knew it.

  The door to the hovel banged open. Edmond stuffed the scroll under his mattress before his parents saw it. Parchment was worth a few coppers; they’d sell it for Scratchums.

  However, they weren’t aware of anything other than the wads of paper in their hands. From the thickness, they’d bought more Scratchums than he had fingers and toes.

  Patty sat at the table and dumped her treasures. “Bring the light over.”

  Edmond scurried over. As soon as the light spilled on the table, his parents each tore the shiny covering from a paper ticket with their nails.

  “Maybe I should scratch them,” Edmond said. “You never let me try.”

  His parents ignored him, all their concentration on the tickets in front of them. Which, looking on the bright side meant they weren’t arguing or suggesting something that gave village idiots a bad name.

  If they won, they’d stop arguing forever though. “You made me lucky; maybe I need to scratch the ticket off for us to win.”