by April White
Raven muttered under her breath. “We’re not going to bloody Borneo.”
Mr. Shaw finally turned his attention to Raven. “I’ve no doubt that someone of your limited skills would not take the risks I’m talking about.” His gaze traveled over the other students before finally resting back on me. “But others of you will. And do already.”
Raven’s eyes narrowed at me and she went back to whispering with her friends.
“The dandelion plant, for example, is completely edible. The leaves are excellent in salads, rich in vitamins A, B, C, D, potassium and iron. The flowers make a decent wine, and the roots are a coffee substitute.” I was completely fascinated. Dandelions have always seemed like pretty weeds to me, and our neighbor in Venice always ripped them out of her flower beds with a vengeance. “But in addition to its edible properties, this humble plant is one of nature’s great medicines. A decoction of the whole plant is an excellent cure for stomachaches and constipation.” There were sniggers at this and Mr. Shaw smirked. “If you’ve ever lived on a high protein diet, you’ll recognize the value in this.”
Ava leaned over and whispered to me. “He usually turns into a Bear. He would know.”
I stared at her. A Bear? Obviously the man looked like Goran, the immortal of Nature, but seriously? He was actually a Shifter? Mr. Shaw continued. “And this might interest some of you. Did you know the sap of the dandelion can cure warts, pimples and bee stings?”
A boy behind us laughed. “Good to know.”
Mr. Shaw smiled for the first time since I’d seen him. It warmed his face up like a fire had just been lit. “I thought you might like that.” He pointed to another plant. “This is commonly known as shepherd’s purse. The leaves can be eaten as a vegetable, the seeds can be cultivated as a spice, and a poultice of the plant can be made to stop bleeding.”
He indicated another one. “And this is chickweed. Chickens love it, the leaves are a great source of vitamins, but its primary benefit is as a poultice or ointment for skin irritations and ulcers.”
Mr. Shaw pointed at several other plants on the chart. “You can eat miner’s lettuce, sea holly – the boiled root tastes like chestnuts - and young bracken. The tightly coiled heads can be eaten raw, and the rootstock can be made into glue.” He rolled down another chart and pointed to a bigger fern. “But avoid mature bracken, which destroys vitamin B in the body.” His expression was serious. “Avoid any plant with milky sap except dandelion. Avoid fruits that are divided into five segments. Avoid red plants – hemlock has reddish-purple splotches on its stem, and though the red stem of rhubarb can be eaten if cooked, its leaves are poisonous. And avoid anything that tastes or smells of bitter almonds or peaches, or anything that stings or numbs the skin or tongue.”
Mr. Shaw unlocked the classroom door and opened it. “Miss Walters, now’s your chance. We’ll be in the field beyond the kitchen gardens. I expect you to join us there.”
It took some effort for Raven to keep from glaring at him as she swept from the room, her cell phone already in hand. She’d be texting ‘chaotic1’ before she was even down the hall.
Mr. Shaw held the door open for the rest of us. A short girl with pixie hair spoke. “Do we need to bring anything?”
“Only your eyes, noses, brains and common sense.”
We filed out of the classroom and followed the enormous man down the hallway. I was totally intimidated by Mr. Shaw and felt what people in trouble with their dad must feel every time his voice boomed or his eyes glared in my direction. But I was fascinated with the subject he was teaching. I’d never taken any kind of botany class before, or, at least, nothing more than the basic properties of plant photosynthesis. And in all my urban survival tactics, I’d never even considered what would happen if I had to find my own food or medicine. That’s what 7-11s were for. Except the 19th century didn’t exactly have convenience stores. And despite what I’d said to Archer, I knew I was going back.
I caught up to Ava as we were walking out. “Does he really change shape?” Mr. Shaw was far enough ahead of us I figured he couldn’t hear. I should have known better.
Mr. Shaw stopped and turned and looked directly at me. “Walk with me, Miss Elian.” Ava shot me a sympathetic smile and walked ahead. He waited until the other students had gone before he spoke. “While I realize you’re new to St. Brigid’s, and I understand there’s been a moratorium placed on what you are allowed to learn—“ I looked sharply at him. “-which I intend to disregard. My job is to teach. Yours is to learn.”
I nodded and Mr. Shaw continued. “Your fellow Descendants are few in number and as such, the tone of what we teach has changed. Unless you are in a small study group you will not discuss Family business. And you will certainly never speak of it in the halls.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t think—“
He cut me off. “No, you didn’t. But it’s also clear that you are lacking some fundamental information that would mitigate that problem. I have office hours after dinner this evening. Have Mr. Arman bring you at six.”
“But I thought he wasn’t your student.”
His eyes narrowed at me a moment. “Mr. Arman is well acquainted with the location of my office, and until you’re better equipped, it is inappropriate for you to be wandering the halls alone.”
He strode away, leaving me gaping after him. I quickly followed the class out of the building and past the walls of the kitchen garden. I caught a glimpse of brick paths around raised garden beds through the open door. One of the cooks was planting something and I suddenly flashed to an image of my mother doing the same thing in the little garden we had in Oregon. It was right before we moved to Venice and I remembered thinking it was weird she was planting food we’d never get a chance to eat.
It was like she was leaving a secret stash for someone else to uncover. I wondered if that’s a Clocker thing to do, to leave stashes. It would make sense, especially if you know you might return someplace again. We never went back to that little cottage, but I’d bet the asparagus she planted still grows there.
I caught up with Ava in the big field. She was sniffing a wildflower and listening to Mr. Shaw talk. “Your assignment is to identify and harvest as many wild plants as you can find.”
“But we don’t have the chart out here,” someone whined.
“Nor will you when you’re lost in the woods one day with nothing to eat.” He glared at all of us. “If you studied the drawings in the classroom you should be able to find at least three edible plants.”
The October air was cold but the sun had broken through the clouds and felt good on my back as I wandered around the field. I found a dandelion right away and saw that other students had found them too. One boy had broken a stem and was surreptitiously dotting sap on his chin.
The middle of the field was getting trampled so I headed toward the outer edge for my search. Chickweed was also easy to spot. It was a low matting creeper plant and I pulled up a handful. I tasted a small leaf, hoping I’d actually identified it properly.
The best I could say about chickweed is that it tastes green. I broke off a piece of dandelion leaf and tasted that too. Again, green, but fairly bitter too. Wouldn’t be my first choice for food, but good to know I could feed myself with it if I had to.
I saw some ferns at the edge of the forest, tucked in the shade of a big tree. I thought Mr. Shaw’s description of bracken was pretty cool. Try to eat the old fern and it sucks all the vitamin B out of your body, but the young curls are okay. Slightly dangerous but also useful. My kind of plant.
Up close it was pretty clear the bracken was all too mature to eat, but I pulled one up anyway. The roots were thick and sprawling, and I shook off the extra dirt. I tried to mash a piece of root with my fingers but realized I’d probably need a rock to be able to make glue.
Goosebumps creeped up the back of my neck and I spun to find Mr. Shaw approaching. He looked a little startled. “You heard me?” I shook my head. “How did you know I was behind you?
”
“I felt you.” Another person, more or less, thinking I’m crazy wasn’t going to make me lose sleep. But the look I got from Mr. Shaw wasn’t “she’s a whack-job,” it was more like “hmmm.”
“What else can you do?”
Now it was my turn to stare. “Uh, well, I have a freakshow ability to fall through spirals into other times. Is that what you mean?”
“Must be a little disconcerting, that.”
“A little. The puking’s fun though.” Mr. Shaw laughed. I’d made the man laugh. Score one for the Clocker.
“Show me what you’ve found.”
I unclenched my hand. “The bracken’s too old to eat, but I was wondering about making glue from the roots. Do you have to pound it or boil it?”
“If you crush it with a rock you can generally get enough viscous fluid for glue. And this?”
“Dandelion, of course. And chickweed. The chickweed tastes better but I figure you’d have to eat a whole lot more of it.”
“You tasted the plants?”
I shrugged. “What’s the good of finding them if you don’t know if you’d ever eat them?”
He looked at me speculatively. Then he bent down and pulled up a weed. “Marsh mallow.”
“As in, the sweet, white fluffy stuff?”
“There’s a substance in the stem that has a gelatin-like quality that they used to add to marshmallows. Now they just use gelatin.” He handed it to me.
“So this is edible?” The plant was about three feet tall with pale yellow roots and tapered, round, short-stemmed leaves. I sniffed a leaf.
“It won’t hurt you. But marsh mallow is most useful as a medicine.”
“Poultice or infusion?”
He smiled. “You’ve been paying attention.”
“It’s interesting.”
“Good.” Mr. Shaw took the plant back and began stripping off the leaves. “The most effective way to prepare it is as an infusion of the flowers, stem and leaves.” He knelt down and grabbed a rock. “Crush them first to release as much of the oils and juices as you can, then pour boiling water over them and let them steep until the water is cool.”
“What if you don’t have fire to boil water?”
He nodded. “Smart girl. If you don’t have boiling water, use half the amount of cold water and stand it in the sun.”
I grinned. “This is England. You don’t have sun.”
He rolled his eyes. “Then suck the leaves and stems for all the juices and spit out the pulp.”
I grimaced. “Nasty.”
“Indeed.” He used the rock to scrape at the roots of the marsh mallow. “You can also make a decoction of the roots by scraping and mashing them, then boiling them down.”
I nodded. “Okay, what’s it good for?”
“Because of the high mucilage content – the gelatin stuff – it’s good for treating inflammation and ulceration of the stomach. As a poultice it can clean and soothe wounds, and you can drink it to treat colds, coughs and respiratory infections.”
His amber eyes looked challenging. “Bring a healing poultice with you this evening when you come to my office hours.” Mr. Shaw brushed off his hands and walked away without a backward glance.
A test? I smiled to myself and pulled up several marsh mallow plants then caught up to Ava as the class headed back inside. “Where’s Adam?”
“He has a private class with Miss Simpson. Why?”
“Mr. Shaw wants your brother to ‘escort’ me to his office hours at six. Could you let him know?”
Ava shrugged. “Sure. I’ll have him meet you in the library?”
“Thanks.”
We walked past the kitchen garden and Ava called out to the woman pulling herbs. “Hi Mrs. Taylor!” Mrs. Taylor looked up to see Ava smiling and waving at her. She dropped a fistful of rosemary into her basket. “Any chance you’re making Roast Chicken tonight?”
Mrs. Taylor sniffed. “Might be.”
Ava grinned. “I love her roast chicken.”
I had a sudden inspiration. “Introduce me.”
We walked over to the door of the walled garden. “Mrs. Taylor, this is Saira Elian. She’s new to St. Brigid’s.”
Mrs. Taylor looked me over. “Eat all you can at mealtimes as there’ll be no food in your rooms.”
I nodded politely. “Yes, Ma’am.”
Mrs. Taylor squinted at me. “Elian, you said?”
Ava answered. “She’s American.”
Mrs. Taylor sniffed again and said nothing, turning back to her herbs. “Um, Mrs. Taylor?” She looked up wordlessly. “I was wondering if I could use a corner of your kitchen this afternoon to make a poultice for Mr. Shaw.”
Mrs. Taylor looked at me oddly. “Did he not give you the key to the laboratory for that?”
“No, Ma’am.”
She rolled her eyes. “Sets you to a task with no means to accomplish it. Sounds like Shaw.” Mrs. Taylor gave me an appraising look. “If you keep to yourself and clean up whatever mess you make, I’ll set you up in the staff kitchen.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Taylor. I really appreciate it.”
She sniffed again and filled her basket with the herbs she had just picked. “Five minutes,” she said, and brushed her hands off on her apron.
Ava looked at the weeds in my hands. “I guess I know what you’re doing for the rest of the afternoon.”
“I don’t really have a schedule, do I? I mean, no one has told me anything.”
“I’m sure Miss Simpson is working it out with the other teachers. We don’t usually get Family kids who just drop in mid-term.” Ava checked her watch. “Well, I’m off to class.”
“Which one?”
“Miss Simpson is a seer, so she works with me and Adam on our skills.”
“Are there any other Seer kids here?”
Ava shook her head. “Our other cousins are too little and Tom left…” Ava’s eyes went slightly unfocused and then she shuddered. “Oh!”
“What?” The way Ava was looking at me gave me chills.
“I have to talk to Adam.” Ava started to turn away but I grabbed her arm.
“What did you just see?”
Ava’s eyes cleared but her expression didn’t inspire confidence. “I just saw you… and Tom.”
“Your cousin?”
“You were running…”
I stared at her. “Like out for a jog…?”
She shook her head. “Away.”
“From…?”
Ava looked confused and scared, like a deer in headlights. “From shadows.”
That might just have been about the most terrifying thing she could have said to me. I opened my mouth to respond but Ava was already racing down the hall. “I’ll find you later, Saira,” she called over her shoulder.
Way to drop a bomb and then run away. I hoped Mrs. Taylor was ready for me because I was craving the comfort of a busy kitchen right about now.
I found her at a big sink full of steaming water plucking a chicken. I had never seen anyone actually prep a real chicken before and I had to admit, I was pretty fascinated. “You dunk it first in hot water to loosen the feathers. I hold them by the feet so I don’t burn my hands.” Mrs. Taylor spoke in a very matter-of-fact tone as she nodded toward an un-plucked bird on the sideboard. “Try to pull the feathers out of that one.” I tugged on a tail feather but it wouldn’t budge. I pulled harder but it was like trying to pull out a fingernail. Mrs. Taylor held up the bird she was working on. “Now this one.” I reached for a wing feather and it came out with just a gentle tug. Mrs. Taylor looked at me with approval. “You think you can finish this one for me while I clear a workspace for your poultice?”
“Sure.” She handed the half-plucked chicken to me.
“If the feathers stick, dunk it again.”
I started pulling feathers out and leaving them in the sink. Mrs. Taylor watched me a moment, then nodded and moved away to the other side of the kitchen.
Somehow I doubted this was
what Millicent had in mind when she sent me to St. Brigid’s. In her world, that’s what servants were for. But plucking a chicken seemed like a good skill for a Clocker to have. I’d never felt so conspicuous in my life as I had in Victorian London.
I needed survival skills, not just blending ability. Things like building shelter and starting fires. Dealing with wounds or injuries. Feeding myself.
Mrs. Taylor came back and nodded approvingly. “Not squeamish, are you.” It wasn’t a question. I shrugged.
“I’ve never actually done this before.”
“It’s the killing that’s the hard part. Dressing it’s just a matter of scalding, plucking and gutting. Are you any good with a knife?” I took a deep breath. I wasn’t sure I was prepared to gut the naked chicken in my hands, but I knew I should learn how.
“Will you show me?”
Mrs. Taylor smiled, the first I’d seen from her. “Good lass. Okay, use the bone-handled knife over there. It’s just been sharpened.”
Mrs. Taylor showed me how to use the knife to cut the head and feet off, open both cavities, then reach in and pull out the guts. Then I ran it under water again until it was clean.
Mrs. Taylor gave me a handful of rosemary to stuff it with. She showed me how to salt and pepper it and cover it in olive oil. Then she plucked a lemon out of a pot of boiling water, stabbed it a couple of times, and shoved it into the cavity with the rosemary. “To steam it from the inside” she said. She popped the whole thing into the oven and we washed our hands.
“You’re a quick study. Better than most of ‘em.” The compliment made me feel good. I got the impression Mrs. Taylor didn’t think too highly of many people.
She set me up with a sink, a really old-looking marble mortar and pestle and a cast-iron pot. She showed me how to hang the pot in the big kitchen fireplace and gave me another warning about cleaning up after myself before leaving me to my brewing.
I got to work grinding the marsh mallow plants with the mortar and pestle, then I dumped them in the pot, covered the mess with water, and set the whole thing deep into the fireplace. I wanted to keep whatever respect I’d managed to earn from Mrs. Taylor so I was extra thorough as I cleaned my workspace. She was busy preparing the other chickens for dinner, but I thought I caught an approving glance from her as I worked.
