A Secret of Birds & Bone

by Kiran Millwood Hargrave

  ‘The convent?’

  ‘Yes, child.’ Sister Rosa turned her smile upon him, too. ‘We had reports of children living alone. We’re here to fetch you.’

  ‘Fetch us?’ Ermin looked up at Sofia, but she could not meet his gaze. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because of the kindness of the duchessa, who built that place for your sort.’

  ‘We’re not orphans,’ croaked Sofia. ‘Our mamma, she’s—’

  ‘Indisposed,’ said the nun kindly. ‘Yes, dear.’

  ‘But where is she? Why is she—’

  ‘Enough,’ said the guard.

  ‘All we know,’ said the nun, holding out a placatory hand to him, ‘is that a letter came from the palazzo to say two children lived alone in the charnel house and were to be placed under our care.’

  ‘Can’t we stay here?’

  ‘You must come with us. The duchessa has ordered it.’

  Sofia shook her head. The day was falling away, and dusk would soon settle blue and chill about their home. They could not leave, could not, surely, believe what they were being told and give up on Mamma’s return?

  ‘Will we see Mamma?’

  ‘I know nothing but what I was told,’ said Sister Rosa softly. ‘I will try to find more answers for you. We must go now.’

  Something – some bone-deep thing – stayed Sofia. But Ermin was already allowing himself to be manoeuvred inside to fetch his cloak and the guard had crossed his arms sternly. The magpie was eyeing Corvith beadily and though Sofia knew she could wait and wait, there were no more answers here.

  She tried to coax Corvith into his cranium basket but the crow hopped from foot to foot, sniping at her with his beak and chittering.

  ‘No-So!’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Sister Rosa gently. ‘We do not allow pets.’

  ‘He’s not a pet,’ said Ermin. ‘He’s family.’

  ‘Surely he will be all right here?’ said Sister Rosa. ‘Crows are made to be free anyway, not caged in a bone house.’

  ‘He’s lived with us always,’ said Sofia, her heart wrenching at the thought of leaving him. ‘He has to come.’

  But as she wrestled Corvith into his skull nest the guard’s magpie darted at him and was pulled back by its lead, its beak snipping the air. Corvith screeched and took off from Sofia’s hands, swooping out of the door and past the guard, disappearing into the twisting shadows of the overgrown olive grove.

  ‘Corvith!’ Ermin went stumbling after him, but it was too late. The crow had vanished into the dark, black feathers melting into black air.

  The stars were bright and white in their places, the moon a precise slice in the inscrutable fabric of the sky. The city felt transformed, or perhaps it was only Sofia’s heart that was hollow and haunted.

  She was weak with tiredness and could barely walk as the nun and the guard led them through the streets to the richer district of the city, where merchants lived.

  ‘The duchessa ensured the convent was in the finest district,’ chattered the nun. ‘Built over the spot of the original well to the hidden river. And she used the finest building materials to make it.’

  Sofia heard her as though through water. Ermin walked in a daze beside her, yawning with tiredness. They arrived at the convent gates and Sofia could see that it was a beautiful building, built in the same ornate style as the palazzo. There were pipes here too, the kind the duchessa used to speak to them at the Palio. The guard opened the massive cross-hatching of metal to a gatehouse. Sofia felt like a fly, drawn into a silken web.

  ‘That’ll be all,’ said Sister Rosa to the guard, slamming the gate in his face.

  Dumbly, they followed the nun out from the gatehouse and into a wide circular courtyard, illuminated by lamps and surrounded by a loop of buildings with high, shuttered windows. In the dirt was evidence of play: a hoop and stick, a ball of rags, a scuffed hopscotch grid drawn into the dust. A well was sunk into the centre. But the whole place was silent and ghostly – the only movement was shadowy magpies flying occasionally overhead, guarding the courtyard.

  ‘For our safety,’ said Sister Rosa, indicating the birds. ‘The duchessa takes great care of the children in her charge.’

  Sofia narrowed her eyes at the flying shadows. It felt more like a prison than a convent.

  They entered a door across the yard and walked along a corridor with rows of doors on the left. It still smelt new, like forests and the metallic tang of stone dust.

  At last Sofia saw more black-clad figures, more nuns like their guide, though none were so friendly-seeming as Sister Rosa. They barely had a glance to spare for the new arrivals, moving in a strangely regimented way as though set on tracks. Ermin was looking around in bewilderment.

  Sofia felt she was dreaming.

  Dreaming as Sister Rosa gently unfurled their fingers and placed into them sets of coarse linen tunics and trousers. Dreaming as the nun led them down a scrubbed corridor, into another scrubbed corridor and on and on until they reached a wooden staircase. They were ushered up, and, as in a dream, the corridor they were faced with was an exact mimic of the last.

  ‘You can stay here together, tonight,’ said Sister Rosa, gesturing to the room. ‘I do not wish to disturb the others. But from tomorrow you’ll sleep separately, in the boys’ and girls’ quarters. Here, drink this.’

  She pressed two cups to them, and Sofia drank because it was something to do. Milk, laced with something sweet. Honey? It didn’t taste like Mamma’s, made with lavender.

  ‘Is that better?’ Sister Rosa was looking at them kindly. ‘I know you are sad. But you have a home here, and a family. You are not alone.’

  The nun gave them a last, kind smile and left the room, leaving them with a single candle. Sofia’s head swam. Her eyes were raw from tiredness. Her neck felt bare and vulnerable without her locket, without the comfort of having the gift Mamma made with her. Too late, she wished she had brought something from home. She helped Ermin change into his linen outfit. At last they lay down and sank fast into sleep.

  ‘Wake up, children.’

  Sofia opened her eyes. It was light, the day leaking in through the slats of the shutters. The voice came again and she sat up, rubbing her eyes. Ermin was beside her, but there was no one else in the room. Where had it come from?

  ‘Corvith!’ Ermin reared up as though jabbed. ‘Sofia, we left Corvith. What’ll we do?’

  Her head felt full of clouds. She preferred that, knowing sharper pain lay beneath. She struggled upright. Her new clothes itched, stiff with starch. ‘He’ll be all right, Ermin. We won’t be staying here.’

  ‘We won’t?’

  ‘They can’t make us—’

  ‘What’s that, child?’

  Ermin and Sofia jumped. Sister Rosa had materialized in the doorway, sudden and silent as a thought.

  ‘Nothing,’ mumbled Sofia.

  ‘I’m glad you heard me all right.’ Sister Rosa gestured to the walls. Along them was nailed a circular rail, with holes at regular intervals. ‘It’s a new system we are testing. Just like at the palazzo—’

  ‘Pipes!’ said Ermin. ‘We know, we heard her use them at the—’

  Sofia elbowed him. She didn’t want them to get in trouble for being at the Palio.

  A faint frown flickered across Sister Rosa’s face, like a cold breeze guttering a candle. ‘I’m here to show you round. Get dressed, and come along.’

  They got ready quietly and quickly, then followed the nun from the room.

  ‘This is the new wing.’ She gestured at the room they were leaving behind. ‘The duchessa is committed to leaving no needy child uncared for.’

  Now Sofia was fully awake, she could hear sounds from outside: children laughing and shouting. She peered through one of the shuttered windows and saw the yard was scattered thinly with children, playing quietly, around the well. There weren’t very many of them, and Sofia supposed this was a good thing, meaning that not a lot of children had lost their families to the smallpox.
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  ‘It’s free time now,’ said Sister Rosa over her shoulder, already far ahead with Ermin at her heels and rounding one of the corners. ‘An hour in the morning before lessons, an hour after riposo – resting time – and an hour in the evening.’

  Sofia tried to lock the information into her head. ‘Lessons?’

  ‘You’ll do sewing,’ said Sister Rosa, ‘and this is where you sleep.’

  They’d arrived at a wing that mirrored where Sofia and Ermin had slept. The beds here were neatly made, with scant signs of disorder – a comb here, a rag doll there.

  ‘What about me?’ said Ermin.

  ‘Boys are further along the corridor.’ The nun gestured ahead, where a doorway stood open. ‘The door between the boys’ and girls’ rooms is locked at night. And you’ll have separate lessons too.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because boys don’t sew, child,’ said Sister Rosa. Sofia thought she caught an edge of something in her voice, something like anger. ‘You’ll learn woodwork, the use of tools.’

  ‘I sew,’ said Ermin proudly. ‘And my mamma works with tools.’

  ‘Did she?’ Sister Rosa sounded genuinely interested.

  ‘She does,’ corrected Ermin. ‘She’s a bone—’

  ‘Ermin,’ said Sofia sharply.

  ‘That’s nice, child.’ Sister Rosa hoisted another benign smile on her face. ‘Tell me more about your mother?’

  But Ermin looked quickly at Sofia, who shook her head.

  ‘Her work seems fascinating,’ continued Sister Rosa. ‘And that house! How in heaven did she make such a thing?’

  Sofia pressed her lips together and scuffed her feet. Sister Rosa’s gentle smile hardened for a moment, before she shrugged.

  ‘This way.’

  She led them back to the entrance to the girls’ quarters and down the staircase they had taken the previous day. As she descended, Sister Rosa turned briefly to look back at Sofia. She was still smiling. A finger of something like fear traced up Sofia’s spine.

  ‘These are the boys’ lesson rooms,’ said the nun once they reached the ground floor, opening another door. Sofia and Ermin peered inside. It smelt of sawdust and bone glue, like home. There were tools ranged along the walls, outlined in ink so it would be noticed if anything was out of place.

  ‘And these are the girls’,’ Sister Rosa called from further down the corridor. Sofia wrinkled her nose. A font was set next to the entrance, and the room smelt of roses and was furnished with padded benches. It was a very dull room compared to the boys’.

  ‘What if we want to build things?’ said Sofia.

  ‘This,’ continued Sister Rosa, as if Sofia had not spoken, ‘is the portrait of Duchessa Serafina Machelli, for whom the convent is named.’

  She gestured at a large portrait hanging between the two workrooms. An exquisite, green-eyed woman stared out at them – her blonde hair caught beneath a coronet, her skin smooth and perfect. In her arms she held a miniature tower, like the one connected to the palazzo, and a magpie was perched on her shoulder. It was looking at the woman with an expression a lot like Sister Rosa’s own: admiration and awe.

  ‘She’s beautiful,’ breathed Ermin, gaping up at the woman.

  ‘She was,’ said Sister Rosa.

  ‘She’s dead?’ Ermin frowned, sounding confused.

  ‘Goodness no, child. Only she keeps to her own company, now. The pipes are all we hear of our leader.’ Sister Rosa crossed herself. A sound threw itself through Sofia’s body, rippling through the soles of her feet.

  Ermin cringed and covered his ears. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘The bell,’ said Sister Rosa, pointing again to the wall. There, high up, was another pipe. ‘Come come, lesson time.’

  She pointed Sofia to the room in front of them and went to usher Ermin away. Her little brother clung to her.

  ‘I want to stay with Sofia.’

  ‘It’s not allowed,’ said Sister Rosa, and for the first time something like disapproval crossed her round face.

  Sofia didn’t want Ermin to leave any more than he wanted to part from her, but she saw there was no arguing with Sister Rosa. She knelt down and hugged Ermin close.

  ‘It’s not for long, and you’re only next door.’ She whispered into his ear. ‘I’ll figure this out, Ermin. I just need time to think.’

  He nodded, lip wobbling, and let Sister Rosa lead him away just as the sound of several pairs of feet slapping on wooden floors reached Sofia. She shrank back against the wall beside the font as a trickle of girls seeped along the corridor.

  All wore the same clothes as her and all had their hair in tight plaits that trailed down their backs, tied neatly with rope. Each stopped at the small font outside the room, washing their hands with soap on a rope beside it. They took great care, and Sofia saw some of them counting to ten as they washed.

  As they passed Sofia to enter the room they stared openly, whispering behind their hands, and Sofia felt her cheeks colour. She tried to tidy her own hair, wild with tangles, wishing she could disappear into the cool wall behind her.

  Sister Rosa brought up the rear and gave Sofia another kind smile as she detached her gently but firmly from her hiding place. She had a knot of string in her hands, and she turned Sofia round to the font.

  ‘Wash your hands.’ As Sofia did so, Sister Rosa began yanking her hair into a plait with surprising forcefulness. Sofia winced, but did not draw away.

  Once her hands were washed and her hair was secured, Sister Rosa nodded approvingly. ‘Much better. Come and meet your new friends.’

  The girls slotted neatly on to the benches lining the walls, like books into bookshelves, bringing out an assortment of tunics, socks and nightcaps from boxes beneath them.

  Sister Rosa clapped her hands once and the rustling and whispering stopped.

  ‘This is Sofia Fiori, girls. Please make her welcome.’ The nun gestured for Sofia to sit at the end of the bench. ‘You can help Carmela with her darning.’

  Sofia turned uncertainly to Carmela. She was a thin girl with a narrow face. She had curled her legs up underneath herself, putting Sofia in mind of a dormouse. Carmela smiled toothily.

  ‘This pillowcase is full of holes,’ she whispered. ‘I’m glad I have help.’

  ‘Shhh.’ Sister Rosa held her finger to her lips. ‘Work in silence girls, the better to concentrate.’

  Sofia took the needle and thread Carmela offered her and, nodding gratefully, began to work on the frayed pillowcase.

  Sofia was not a skilled seamstress. Ermin was the one with delicate fingers, the one Mamma chose to darn their own pillowcases or filigree her bone boxes. Sofia longed to be next door with the boys, a hammer in her hands, making something solid. Work that would make her arms ache, like building the bone bed.

  This was boring, but at least it gave Sofia time to think. Only the day before they had been at home. Now they were in an orphanage – and Corvith was at home on his own, and Mamma was arrested, possibly imprisoned – perhaps for ever . . .

  No, Sofia told herself firmly. She would not believe it. This was all a big misunderstanding. Mamma would return home soon enough and Corvith would guide her to town, and soon they would be back in their charnel house.

  She concentrated more on these thoughts than her work, and Carmela’s smile soon dropped when she saw the state Sofia was making of her pillowcase. But still, she was kind, and as the two hours dragged by she gently guided Sofia in her needlework, so that when that awful bell crashed through the pipe lining the room and into Sofia’s body again, her efforts were a little improved.

  The girls stretched and packed away their work beneath the benches and stood, Sofia rising a beat after the rest.

  ‘Very good, girls,’ said Sister Rosa, who had sat so silently and still that Sofia had almost forgotten she was there. A bell was in her hand. Beside her was a box, with a lever which she now slid to a different position. The echo of the bell faded away. ‘Lunch.’

  Sofia wa
s swept along in the soft chatter of the girls, swaddled tight to Carmela’s side by the crush as they moved along the corridor, beneath the portrait of Duchessa Machelli, past the boys’ workroom and into the yard. Tables had been set up with benches beside them, and the watery smell of stew wafted to Sofia.

  It was not yet the hottest time of the day, but still Sofia’s eyes stung in the sunlight. Magpies endlessly wheeled the perimeter, blots against the dazzling blue.

  Sofia was unused to their presence, and to such a limited view. From the olive grove outside their house they could see all of Siena, perched on its neighbouring hills – the summit of the cathedral tower like the arm of a sundial, casting shadows with the other towers of the city as the sun rose and fell.

  Here, she felt she could have been anywhere in the world beneath that blue sky. The city might have slipped apart outside, and she would never know it but for those magpies.

  The boys were already seated and Sofia found her brother easily, for he was the smallest there, a dip topped with curls in the line of backs. When he turned, she waved and Carmela caught her hand.

  ‘Careful,’ she murmured. ‘They don’t like us talking to the boys.’

  ‘He’s my brother,’ hissed Sofia.

  Carmela shrugged. ‘I don’t make the rules.’

  ‘Who does?’

  But Carmela only held a finger to her lips.

  Sister Rosa took up her place at the head of the queue, surveying the scene from beside another nun who ladled out bean stew into rough wooden bowls with brisk efficiency.

  Sofia ducked her head when she approached and did not look up until she was safely seated. She reached for her spoon, but again Carmela stayed her hand.

  ‘Let us pray,’ said Sister Rosa, and only after the Amen were they allowed to eat.

  They ate in silence, heads dipping almost in unison. It felt more like an army than a group of orphans. Sofia finished ahead of the other girls on her table and again sought out Ermin.

  He was seated facing away from her, but she fixed the back of his neck in such a stare he scratched his nape and turned round. She gave him a brief grin, and he grinned back. The tightness in her chest loosened a notch.