by Sharon Sant
Isaac’s head throbbed as Ernesto paced in circles around him. Resisting the urge to clutch it, he cast his gaze to the floor, trying his best to look respectful, as his guardian vented his rage.
‘How could you be so careless? That was a day’s earnings we’ve lost!’
‘I didn’t see him.’
‘That’s because you wander about the place as if you only have your own world to think about,’ Ernesto snapped. ‘If you don’t start proving yourself more useful, you’ll be out on the streets again where I found you.’
‘I do a good turn, don’t I?’
Isaac looked up to find that Ernesto had stopped pacing and was now standing in front of him, his calculating stare boring into him. ‘Good enough for a second rate trickster, I suppose.’
Isaac forced himself to match Ernesto’s fierce gaze. Whatever was said, he knew that Ernesto needed him.
Ernesto took a seat at his desk. ‘Make the money back and I won’t have to let the wolves nip at you.’
‘How?’
‘I don’t care how. If you don’t want your liver to be a dog’s dinner then you’ll find a way.’
Annie gently untangled the butterfly from the web. Its once vibrant blue wings were flaking, almost see-through in places, the body a dried husk. She stared at it, only her eyes betraying her sadness. She glanced around the stable. Polly was still outside with the horse, singing a strange sort of sea shanty as she worked; Annie couldn’t imagine where she would have learned it from. Annie presumed that Ernesto was in his study, as he usually was, and that Isaac was still with him.
She lifted the butterfly up, close to her lips. ‘Live,’ she whispered, and waited.
The wings transformed as she watched, lustrous and vivid as they had been once before. Then they began to move, slowly, until they became elegant sweeps and the butterfly rose towards the loft of the stable. ‘Not there, silly,’ Annie said with a smile, and the creature dived again, circled her head once, and then climbed through the doors and into the grey skies. Annie lay back in the hay and closed her eyes.
‘What you doin’, lazy bones?’ Polly huffed from the doorway.
‘Just cleaning the straw out,’ Annie said, scrambling to her feet.
‘With your backside?’ Polly snapped. ‘Hurry up, Chester’s ready to come back in.’
Annie grabbed the broom and swept the floor, hurriedly grabbing armfuls of fresh straw from the nearest trough and spreading it over the stone flags. She looked up at the sound of Chester’s hooves ringing on the courtyard.
‘You done ‘ere?’ Polly asked as she held the horse steady.
‘Yes.’
Polly stroked a steadying hand over the muzzle of the horse.
‘Don’t you worry about where your sister is?’ Polly cast a sideways glance as she led the horse into the newly cleaned stall.
Annie shook her head. ‘She’s safe, I know she is.’
‘You said you never saw who took her in, but I followed you out last night when you snuck off.’
‘How did you –’ Annie began.
Polly tapped the side of her nose. ‘Nothin’ gets past me. You was watching a little place on the heath.’
‘That weren’t the reason I was watching it.’
‘So you reckon goin’ out in the dead of night to sit freezin’ outside a house is sport?’ Polly wiped her hands down her dress and frowned.
‘I don’t know if she is there or not,’ Annie said.
Polly regarded her thoughtfully for a moment. ‘Like I told you before, she coulda stayed ‘ere with us. You wouldn’t have had to worry about her then.’
Annie shook her head.
‘Why not?’ Polly pressed. ‘Ernesto weren’t goin’ to hurt her. She’s got real magic, he’d look after her better than he would us lot.’
‘You know what happens if people find out you got magic.’
‘Ah, that’s rot.’ Polly folded her arms. ‘Nobody tries to snatch us and we do magic every day on the streets.’
‘That’s because people know ours ain’t real.’
‘Our tricks are that bad, are they?’
Annie blushed.
‘It’s alright,’ Polly smiled. ‘I ain’t offended. Anyone who watches Isaac show off would be able to tell he ain’t got real magic. It’s just the ladies what throw him money cos he’s easy on the eye.’ She sniffed and wiped her nose across the back of her hand. ‘Besides, if kids are snatched for magic, that’s all the more reason for you to keep the nipper ‘ere with us where we can keep an eye on her.’
‘It’s only a small village,’ Annie said. ‘An’ I think the people that live there are decent. I reckon whoever got her is lookin’ after her.’
Polly narrowed her eyes. ‘You do know who has her, don’t ya? Don’t lie to me.’
‘No, Poll, I swear I don’t. You won’t tell Ernesto, will you?’
Polly regarded her steadily. ‘Perhaps if you told Ernesto that you had magic he’d settle at that an’ forget about the baby.’
‘I don’t.’ Annie cast her gaze to the ground. ‘I don’t have magic, only Georgina does.’
‘You got the same mama.’
‘We have.’ Annie said, looking up again. ‘But that don’t mean we both get magic. You know it don’t work like that.’
‘So, you’re telling me you ain’t got magic?’
Annie nodded.
Polly moved towards her and laid a hand on her arm. ‘You can trust me, I’m ol’ reliable Poll, remember?’ Annie looked up into her eyes and nodded uncertainly. ‘So if you wanted to share your secrets, I wouldn’t tell a soul.’
Annie stared at her. Then she opened her mouth to speak…
‘Pleased to see me?’ Isaac strolled towards them. Polly took a step away from Annie with a look of vexation.
‘You know how to make a girl fright, don’t ya?’ she snapped, glaring at him.
‘Charmin’.’ He grinned. ‘I thought you’d be glad to see I’m still alive.’
‘When you bring me a bag of coins and enough silk to make me a hundred dresses I might be glad to see you alive,’ Polly huffed.
Isaac winked. ‘Anythin’ for you, Poll.’
‘I thought Ernie would have flayed the skin off yer back. What’s he said?’
Isaac’s grin faded. ‘Wants me to get the money back.’
‘What are you goin’ to do?’ Annie asked.
He shrugged. I’ll have to go out blaggin’, won’t I?’
Annie’s eyes widened. ‘What if you get caught?’
‘Ain’t never been caught before, don’t see why I should be now.’
‘Before?’
Isaac’s expression darkened. ‘How d’you think I got along before Ernesto took me in? A nipper’s got to eat.’
‘We can do some extra tricks,’ Annie ventured uncertainly.
Isaac shook his head. ‘Ta for the offer, but we barely have enough time to fit in what we got to do now. This way’s better, a mornin’s work an’ I’ll have what we need.’
Annie cast a glance at Polly who merely nodded.
‘Watch your back, you great lump,’ Polly said, turning to Isaac.
He nodded and flashed her another wink before heading out towards the courtyard gates.
Isaac leaned against the wall of the tavern, watching as the world moved around him. He hadn’t yet fixed on a target. Despite the coldness of the day, his palms were sweating and he rubbed them across his jacket again. The air in this district of Uxmouth was thick with smells that made his already delicate stomach turn: rotting meat, animal dung, cheap, sickly colognes. They were smells that brought old memories washing over him, memories that he did not want: seven-year-old Isaac, newly orphaned, begging and stealing on the streets around this very tavern just to survive. But he had chosen this spot today for precisely that reason; he knew every twisting alleyway, every bolthole, every abandoned building and he needed to make sure there was somewhere to run if he was spotted. He pulled his faded cloth cap lowe
r over his eyes and resumed his study of the crowds.
A few minutes later he saw what he was looking for. The man emerged from the tavern – he was portly, his nose bright red, unsteady on his feet. Isaac’s usual genial demeanour was replaced with grim determination; this was not something he took pleasure in. Bouncing himself off the wall, he strode towards the man.
‘Excuse me, sir; I don’t suppose you could direct me to Blacktower road, could you?’
The man staggered to a halt and squinted up at him. ‘Blacktower you say?’
Isaac nodded, grimacing at the stench of old alcohol that greeted him as the man opened his mouth. The man spun slightly and Isaac gently pressed his fingertips to the nearest pocket.
‘Let me see… Yes, if you take a left down here, you’ll see a sign for Market square…’ He turned to face Isaac again, who gave a polite smile.
‘Someone else told me it were that way…’ Isaac said, subtly guiding the man by the elbow to turn in the other direction so that he could access the other pocket.
‘No, no, my dear boy, completely wrong.’
‘Oh,’ Isaac said. ‘Are you sure?’
The man hiccupped and then nodded. ‘It’s that way,’ he said, flinging his arm in the original direction.
‘Then I’ll go that way,’ Isaac said, and tipped his cap. ‘Good day to ya, kind sir.’
Without waiting for a reply, Isaac made his way down a narrow alley running the length of the tavern. Once out of sight of the main street, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a leather coin purse. A quick inspection of the contents caused him to groan. There wasn’t nearly enough. The rush of adrenaline that had coursed through him only a few minutes ago subsided and the full force of his throbbing head came back. He clapped a hand to his temple and massaged it in a bid to alleviate the pain. Then he took a deep breath and tried to focus again on his task. He had hoped that one purse would be enough. For a second blag, he didn’t dare return to his original location. He stood for a moment, deep in thought, finally starting out in the direction of the quay.
He could taste salt on his lips as he waited outside the Queen’s Head. This tavern was frequented by seafarers and was rougher, if it was possible, than the one he had just left, but at least the air on the quay was clearer. Every patron that left or went in was muscled and mean-looking. It was a riskier strategy, but Isaac knew that many of them would be going into that tavern newly paid and one good purse was all he needed.
A bearded man, aged around sixty but still hardy-looking, staggered from the door. Isaac marched over and collided with him.
‘I’m terrible sorry,’ he said, catching the man by the arm and brushing him down.
The man swore and tried to swipe at him, but Isaac ducked away easily.
‘I said I was sorry, didn’t I?’ Isaac frowned and then turned, starting at a brisk walk. Before he had gone a few feet, there was a shout.
‘The little beggar’s had me money!’
Isaac broke into a run, knocking people aside, dodging lobster pots and fish stalls and the hands now grabbing to catch him. There was no time to look around but he knew by the footsteps ringing over the cobbles that he was being chased by more than one person. He’d witnessed plenty of scenes like this himself over the years, and soon half the town would be whipped into a frenzy and eager to join the hunt. He picked up speed, breath burning his lungs, his heart beating to burst from his chest. Ahead was a wall topped by the spikes of iron railings. It was almost the height of Isaac himself, but he couldn’t see any other escape route and if he wanted to get away he was going to have to clear it. As he raced towards it, he reached for the railings and hauled himself up on top of the brickwork. After a quick glance back, and then down over the other side to see that it was clear, he swung his leg over. Pain made him cry out as he caught his leg on a metal tip, but he bit down and tried to block it out. As he glanced up again he saw his pursuers now gaining. Throwing his other leg over the railing more carefully, he dropped down the far side of the wall. Without looking back again, he tore down the quayside to make his escape.
Once the sounds of the hunt had abated, he stopped in a deserted alleyway and, with a shaking hand, pulled aside the torn fabric of his trouser to inspect his wound. The street spun around him, and nausea added to the thumping headache he already had, but he forced himself to look and decided the gash wasn’t that deep. Polly would be able to fix it. He took off his cap and ran a hand through his long, damp fringe. Taking the new money bag from his pocket and opening it up, he heaved a sigh of relief. He stuck his cap on again, pulling it low, and made his way out to the open street.
The gates of the town were in sight when his arm was yanked behind him in a firm grip. He cried out in shock, twisting to get free, and turned to see two uniformed men. In a second he was held by both of them, pulling in vain to escape. The man from the first tavern stepped from behind them.
‘Yes, officers, that’s him.’
Ten
The water was frozen in the pump and the ground was iron, but the day was bright and clear and promised to warm a little once the misty morning had passed. The classes run by Miss Steele were only a few hours long, and not every day, but Charlotte’s mother had decided that even that short time was too much for Charlotte after her illness. Charlotte had never imagined she would be so keen to get across the heath to the draughty wooden building where the teaching took place, but she had been ill and then kept cooped up by her mother for so many long weeks that to finally be allowed out again, even just to school, was a relief.
Charlotte sat quietly at the long wooden bench, waiting for Miss Steele to begin. She looked around the room at the handful of other children sitting with her. She was now one of the oldest – most of her older classmates of the previous school year had gone to work on their parents’ farms or to spin thread and weave at home alongside their mothers. None of her remaining classmates had a face peppered in ugly white scars. Today was the first time many of her classmates had seen her since her illness and her appearance had elicited some curious stares as she entered. It was also the first time she had seen many of them since George’s funeral. She tried to ignore the stares, had spoken a few uneasy greetings on arrival to children she had been friends with and then had hurriedly and awkwardly taken her seat. Recently, Charlotte’s mother had insisted that Charlotte pin her hair up – she was becoming a young lady now and that was the proper way for young ladies to wear their hair. Charlotte suddenly wished she could let loose her thick curls from their neat bun and hide behind them.
As Miss Steele’s back was turned for a moment, Mary Matthews leaned towards Charlotte.
‘Have you heard about the wolf?’ she whispered. Her eyes were bright, keen for scandal. She was a year younger than Charlotte but the gap had always seemed much bigger to her. She usually had too many reasons to gossip too. Mary was the one girl in class that, had she found Charlotte’s scars offensive and wanted to avoid her, Charlotte wouldn’t have minded one bit. But for some reason, Mary always felt compelled to single Charlotte out as someone to gossip to, despite the fact that Charlotte had never given her any encouragement in this area. Once, Mary had told the entire class that a child catcher was in town and would take any of them found wandering the heath after dusk. Most of the younger children had nightmares for weeks. In the end, Mary was forced to stand up in class and tell them all she had made it up. Luckily for Mary, Miss Steele was not the sort of teacher who gave out punishment lightly, or she might have found herself caned. Charlotte had a feeling this was another of her tall tales.
Charlotte breathed a reply. ‘Wolf?’
‘Yes. Father says he has seen it. He has gone with some of his farmhands to track it into the woods and kill it. They say it has taken five sheep just this week.’
‘Well, as long as it just takes sheep, I won’t worry.’ Charlotte replied quickly, and then fell silent as she saw Miss Steele’s attention return to the class.
‘But who is t
o say that it won’t get a taste for child flesh…’ Mary pressed, not noticing that lessons were about to begin.
‘Mary Matthews!’ Miss Steele glared over the top of her tiny glasses.
Mary looked up and blushed. ‘Begging your pardon, Miss Steele.’
‘Today, I want you all to practise arithmetic. I will come to you each in turn with a list of sums for you to get on with – in silence.’ Miss Steele added, glancing sharply at Mary and Charlotte. It was Charlotte’s turn to be red-faced. She shot an angry look at Mary for getting her into trouble.
The end of the morning saw the class dismissed for the day.
‘Shall I walk some of the way with you, Charlotte?’ Mary asked. Charlotte sighed. She could see she was going to be subjected to more tall tales about child-eating wolves, but unable to see a way of saying so without upsetting Mary, she nodded.
‘If you like.’
They carefully picked their way over the bracken-strewn ground. The day was milder than of late and walking would have been a pleasure for Charlotte, had she been allowed to enjoy it alone. But Mary babbled away, Charlotte hardly listening. Until she heard Mrs Brown mentioned.
‘Mrs Brown tells mother that you have a new sister,’ Mary glanced slyly across at Charlotte, waiting for some kind of response.
‘I do not have a sister.’
‘But she told –’
‘Whatever she told your mother is incorrect. I do not have a sister – how can I? You know my father is dead and mother has not remarried. We are caring for a baby girl. That is all.’
Mary paused. ‘Can I come over to see her?’
‘I don’t think so,’ Charlotte replied quickly, ‘mother is not expecting visitors today.’
‘Tomorrow?’ Mary pressed, hopefully.
‘No.’ Charlotte couldn’t tell why she felt so strongly about keeping Georgina away from people in the village. There was a vague, uneasy feeling settling in the periphery of her thoughts, that people would not be altogether kind about a baby who had been abandoned on the heath in the manner that Georgina had been. Superstition was still rife in this part of Dorset and Charlotte knew the sorts of things people believed were not always sensible.
