The Thief on the Winged Horse

by Kate Mascarenhas

  When he had finished, he stroked the doll’s face, and swooned, laughing delightedly. “It works,” he said. “Do you know how long I’ve waited for this?”

  “You arrived in the autumn,” she said. “When the quince were growing in the orchard.”

  “No; I’ve waited since I was a young boy.” He put the doll down. “Help me enchant the others. You take half, I’ll take half.”

  The gesture touched her – the offering of his dolls to her in the wake of so recently mastering enchantments himself. She dared to hope their lessons would continue; and wished to secure that likelihood.

  Instead of taking one of the dolls, she raised her own wrist to her mouth, and nimbly, silently, traced a hex. She stared at Larkin in challenge as she did so.

  “It works upon you too?” he asked.

  “It works on any person, as long as there’s someone to perceive.”

  “What’s the enchantment?”

  “Love.”

  She extended her hand for him to touch her. As his fingers closed over her she observed his face. He let go as though he had been burnt. He looked back at her, then to her hand again. This time when he grasped it he did so in full knowledge.

  “I thought people were lying,” he said.

  “About what?”

  “This.” He tapped his heart. “Can I kiss you?”

  He was the first man to ask. She said: “Yes.”

  Larkin pulled her towards him, and their lips collided. The strangeness of tasting another mouth asserted itself. His mouth was cold, and clean, from the chilled water. She felt inept – her tongue clumsy and darting because she knew it was supposed to tangle with his but wasn’t fully sure how. I’m doing it wrong, her thoughts wailed.

  They paused, at just the point Persephone was wondering how she would know when to stop. His face was too close for her to focus.

  “You look worried,” he whispered.

  “I’m bad at kissing.”

  “Silly.” He pecked her mouth. “Who told you that?”

  “No one. I just know.”

  “You’re mistaken; but I won’t object if you want to practise.”

  Maybe he was protecting her feelings, because he loved her. And yet – if that were the worst case scenario – she had reason to feel reassured.

  “Can we try again?” she asked.

  The second time was better. Warmer, their breathing heavier. His hand moved to her breast. Her chest fluttered inside, as if she had been running.

  He eased back. “Do you want a drink?”

  Persephone shook her head. He picked up his phone from the table and selected some music on low – something old, and shoegazey; she couldn’t place it. Then he sat on the bed, and appraised her as he unfastened his wrist watch.

  “If you touch your own skin, does the enchantment work on you?” He placed the watch on the window ledge.

  She took a seat next to him. “No. Maybe it’s there as a constant background hum so I don’t really notice it. Because my skin’s always touching my skin somewhere, isn’t it?”

  The cleft beneath her arm; the underside of her breast against her torso; the inside of her thighs.

  “So you’re not in love with yourself?” he teased.

  “The other Kendricks think I am, even without the enchantment. But it’s not true – I don’t think I’m better than everyone else. I just think I’m better than they give me credit for.” Most of the time. Sometimes she feared they’d judged her correctly.

  The enchantment only worked on Larkin when he touched her, but he must be sufficiently intrigued by its effects to keep returning, because now he rested his head on her shoulder.

  “What are you going to do when people love you just for shaking your hand?” he asked.

  “Let go.”

  “It’s that simple?”

  “It has to be. I hate shaking hands anyway. I won’t do it in future.”

  “But what if you have to give a customer change, and you brush against their palm? What if you need a haircut? What if you’re ill and need a doctor’s examination?”

  She shrugged. “I’ll explain to the doctor. The others, I’ll just do my best to avoid. And if they touch me without my say-so they deserve what they get. But the enchantment’s laid. I can’t remove it.”

  “Ever?”

  “Ever.”

  “What a ridiculous thing for you to do.” He kissed her again, and they lay down, their heads sharing one pillow. Between the breaks in the music they could hear the television where Mrs Mayhew was sitting in the lounge.

  “I want to make love to you,” Larkin said.

  “I know. I can’t. It’s too fast.”

  He stroked her head. “All right. Whatever you need.”

  *

  She woke shortly after midnight. He was sitting at his desk again, arranging the zoetrope.

  “What enchantment are you laying now?” she mumbled sleepily.

  “It’s Faith that All will be Well,” he replied.

  Persephone thought: I don’t remember that on the wallhanging. Larkin must have kept a disc back. Larkin, with his secrets. She wondered if he would be less secretive now her touch could inspire Love in him. But lovers weren’t always truthful. She drifted back into sleep, dreamlessly, and Faith was forgotten.

  36

  It was one o’clock in the morning, and Hedwig was woken by the ring of the telephone on the landing. She stumbled from her bed to answer.

  It was Inspector Naidu. “We’ve arrested Briar Kendrick.”

  “What?” Hedwig was immediately alert.

  “Tonight we received a tip that the Paid Mourner was on his property—”

  “From who?” Hedwig raised her voice.

  “The informant withheld his name. However, anyone who’d entered the property would have seen the doll. She was on the kitchen table when we arrived. I’d like to update you and your boss in more detail tomorrow morning, once we’ve interviewed Mr Kendrick. I’m afraid he isn’t currently fit for questioning.”

  So Briar was drunk. He’d allowed someone to see the forgery, and they’d thought it was real. The police seemed to believe the doll was genuine too – surely they’d say if they suspected Briar, or her, of an attempt to defraud? But Briar might still confess all under pressure, including Hedwig’s involvement. Who knows what he would say in an interview.

  Naidu went on. “In the meantime, it would help us greatly if your boss would confirm the doll’s identity. That’s information we’d want to take into the interview room. Miss Mayhew? Are you still there?”

  “Yes, yes I’m still here. It’s all – quite overwhelming.”

  “Naturally.”

  Naidu might know more than she was letting on. The Inspector sounded genuine, but that might be a front, to lure Hedwig into a false sense of security.

  “I just don’t want to get my hopes up,” Hedwig added. “Let’s see if the doll’s right first.”

  “It matches the visual description we were given. We’re confident of a positive ID.”

  From his bedroom, Conrad was calling: “Hedwig, Hedwig!”

  “I’ll bring Conrad to the station immediately,” Hedwig told Naidu, and hung up. There wouldn’t be any further sleep tonight.

  *

  Conrad and Hedwig were at the station within the hour. Inspector Naidu ushered them into a bland side room where the replica of the Paid Mourner lay upon a laminate table.

  “Take your time examining it,” the Inspector said. “You need to be sure.”

  As soon as he picked the doll up, Conrad cried: “The enchantment is right! It’s her.”

  “Check her thoroughly. Any case against your brother will depend on it.”

  “It’s her,” Conrad said, but he obliged by disrobing the doll and scrutinising the wood beneath, as well as checking through her hair, where Briar had marked the correct hex. Over the years, Hedwig could never recall Conrad taking the Paid Mourner from the cage. If he had done so, it must have been
privately, and rarely. He was ready to be convinced by a replica in part because his impressions at close range to the doll were limited – and because he dearly needed to believe she had been found.

  “What’s Briar said?” Hedwig asked the Inspector. She dared not ask if they thought he’d worked alone. It seemed foolish to plant the idea in their heads before they raised it themselves, but her fear was growing. Once Briar was sober, he would see that he faced prison if he allowed the police to believe the doll was genuine. He might think his chances were better if he told the truth – that he was committing extortion, and fraud, but there was no evidence he was a thief. And if he did that, Hedwig’s involvement would surely come to light.

  “He claims he was compelled to take her by the fae folk,” Naidu said drily. “But that won’t affect his legal culpability.”

  “You’re confident of a conviction?” Conrad asked.

  “We need to wait until he’s fit to interview.” Yet the Inspector spoke smugly. Her tone betrayed confidence. “I’ll update you as soon as we have anything to report.”

  They left shortly afterwards, as their presence was no longer required. They departed empty handed, as the crime scene officer was still collecting evidence from the Paid Mourner.

  “When she is returned,” Conrad said in the car park, “I will expect the clan to come view her glorious reinstatement.”

  “You must be so relieved she’s been found,” Hedwig said.

  “And she’s unharmed,” Conrad said. “I’m thankful to Briar for that.”

  “You’re not angry with him?” Hedwig asked, surprised.

  “More than I can express; but it sounds as though he was not in full control of himself.”

  “You think the Thief compelled him?”

  “He may have done. I don’t think Briar would blame the fae folk lightly. He knows, as I do, that the Kendricks’ fate has always been entwined with theirs.”

  “Do you believe Briar?” Hedwig knew that what really mattered was whether the police believed him; but if – by some miracle – she escaped their detection, Conrad’s belief was essential to Hedwig’s continued position. Hedwig couldn’t be blamed for a crime orchestrated by the fae folk.

  “I haven’t decided if Briar’s telling the truth. But I do know that when you buried the gold, the doll was delivered, just as the letter asked. That suggests the Thief was driving events.”

  “Will you return the gold to Delderfield now?”

  “No. You find me superstitious, feign to deny it, but the burial led to the outcome we wanted, and reversing it may reverse the outcome also. At least let us wait until Briar elaborates.”

  “I wonder what he’ll say when they question him tomorrow.”

  “That, my sweet, may depend on the soreness of his head.” He frowned. “There is one thing I can’t account for. Before the doll’s disappearance, her enchantment was growing faint with age. It’s now quite clear and strong –almost as if it had been renewed...”

  Hedwig cut in, quick-thinking: “Wouldn’t that be natural, if she’s kept company with fae folk? The Thief would rejuvenate her power, I’m sure.”

  Conrad brightened at this suggestion. “Yes. Yes, I’m sure that’s true, my sweet.”

  The chauffeur was waiting. He opened the car door for them, and they settled in for the journey home.

  37

  Persephone was disorientated in the morning to open her eyes on a room other than her own. The weight of Larkin’s arm across her waist reminded her where she was. The cover was over them but she was still in her dress from the day before. Soon she would have to wash and change for work. Till then she could listen to the robin, singing in the darkness beyond the window.

  At seven the alarm rang. Persephone reached to turn it off as Larkin blinked, his hair dishevelled.

  “You’re still here,” he said.

  “Should I have gone?” She rolled over to face him.

  “No.” He touched his foot to hers. “It’s lovely. You’re lovely. Let’s stay here all day.”

  “Just kissing?”

  “Whatever you want.”

  “Not sex.”

  “I know. You said.”

  “I’d be bad at it.”

  “That’s why you don’t want to? Look, it’s not like—” He searched for words, and began again. “You’re making a category error. You can’t be bad at it because I’m not marking your performance. I just want to be close to you.”

  “If I get things wrong you might laugh at me,” she pointed out. “You’re always laughing at things I say and I don’t always know why.”

  “I laugh because I enjoy your company, not because you’ve said something wrong. Well – maybe because you’ve said something a bit, well, frank – more frankly than most people would. But I like that about you. I thought you knew. Do you want me to stop?”

  “No. Not if that’s why. Just don’t laugh at me if I seem – inexperienced.”

  “I’m inexperienced. Nobody’s ever enchanted me before.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “I know.”

  She bit her thumbnail. “We can still do other things.”

  “Things?”

  “Things I know how to do.” She kissed him. That, she had the knack of now. Narrowing the space between their bodies, she shifted her leg over his body, her thigh resting on his hip, to move her pelvis closer to his. The long skirts of her black gown rode higher.

  “Here,” she said, moving his hand over her stomach, over the dark silk, under the cotton of her underwear. “Here. Is that all right?”

  He nodded. She guided his hand, moving it the way she liked.

  “Keep circling,” she whispered, and let his hand go.

  She gasped into his shoulder, conscious of Mrs Mayhew’s footfall in the corridor. Larkin froze for a second, as Mrs Mayhew seemed to stop at the door. When she walked away, Persephone started to laugh.

  “See, laughing’s not so bad,” Larkin said.

  “It’s just so embarrassing. Not wanting to be caught out by Mrs Mayhew.”

  “Ignore Mrs Mayhew,” he said gently. He unfroze; she unfroze. Her eyes closed. Those circles, radiating through her body like warm water. She felt herself outpace the speed of his hand, and nearly said, quicker, go quicker, but there was something pleasurable in the slowness of his movement – the frustration of it. She imagined that she was a wax doll – that he was shaping her – and the tension peaked; her back arced as she cried out.

  She waited for her breathing to steady. Her forehead was hot.

  “Your whole face changed when you came,” he said.

  “Isn’t that normal?” she asked, surprised.

  “Yes. It’s just,” he said, “I’ve never seen you unguarded before.”

  *

  Persephone learnt of Briar’s arrest over breakfast, from Mrs Mayhew.

  “I was looking out the window when they came to take him. He made a terrible fuss. Struggled and slapped a policeman, so they’ll charge him with that too, won’t they? I expect you’ll want to ring the station,” Mrs Mayhew prompted. “Get some news?”

  “If he or the police need me I’m sure they’ll call.” Persephone wiped her mouth with a napkin. Mrs Mayhew was angling for further gossip.

  Larkin was watching Persephone thoughtfully. Once Mrs Mayhew had left to feed the cat, he said: “I can ring the police, on your behalf, if you’ll find it too hard.”

  “What would be the point? We both know they got the right man.”

  Larkin took her hand, and at her touch, his face softened again.

  “I’m annoyed with myself,” he said.

  “Why?” Persephone asked.

  “Because I’m glad your father is in prison. And I don’t want to be glad about something that makes you sad.”

  “I don’t feel sad about it. I don’t feel anything.” And she didn’t: just a blank, sedated emptiness.

  “He can’t hit you, from prison. You’re free of him. Let
’s leave. We have the wallhanging. We can lay on any of the enchantments. We can establish our own business.”

  “No.” Persephone was adamant. “I’m entitled to be here. And so are you.”

  She sat back in her chair, releasing her hand from his. Larkin mirrored her.

  “OK,” he said. “You’re probably right.”

  *

  Before Persephone left for work, she called by her room again. She took a dozen of her best dolls, from the ones she had perfected during her lessons with Larkin. She laid them tenderly in her bag.

  Larkin was waiting for her at the foot of the stairs. They departed together, walking side by side up the lane.

  “How did it get so hard for women anyway?” he asked.

  “Haven’t you heard? We’re crap at the job.”

  “Four women starting the business should make a difference.”

  “They only had sons, so there were no women in the next generation to be Sorcerers. Those men decided that their daughters should receive a hex, like the boys, for their own protection from the Thief, but fathers must act as intermediary in translating the symbol. A girl couldn’t possibly be allowed to be the only one who knew her hex. Women never regained a proper foothold. Sorcery became men’s work. That was the company line. The women who did break through were belittled. Usually their dolls had a lower price point, or the maker would get dismissed as just the Sorcerer’s sister or wife or lover, or they were treated as freak anomalies.”

  “Surely, during the wars—”

  “Yes, while men were fighting, Kendricks let a few women work as Sorcerers. Mostly they were making dolls for the troops with enchantments of Courage. After the war, both times, everybody said that women had done the job badly, and it was business as usual. The women stayed loyal, the way people always have at Kendricks. But they were broken-hearted. The best of them, a woman named Hester, continued to quietly request the women’s re-employment, fearing if she did nothing the lot of women at Kendricks would never improve. She married an architect who supported her efforts. Then she was widowed and had a breakdown. Her uncle committed her. She wasn’t released back to the eyot until the nineteen eighties. Everyone said it was the sorcery that sent her mad, but it was just grief, grief for her work, and for her husband.”