A Secret of Birds & Bone

by Kiran Millwood Hargrave

  ‘Listen, children,’ said Sister Rosa, her voice soft. ‘I know you heard the trumpet signalling the Palio yesterday. What you may not know was that there was an incident . . .’ The nun paused and looked pitifully at Sofia. She felt a trickle of sweat race down her collarbone. ‘The duchessa has rescheduled the Palio for two days’ time. Just in case you wonder about the trumpet sounding again.’

  A sigh of longing rippled round the courtyard.

  ‘The Palio,’ murmured Carmela. ‘I’ve never seen it, or the duchessa!’

  ‘How long have you been here?’ frowned Sofia.

  ‘Three years,’ said Carmela. ‘Since the smallpox.’ She whispered the word, like the disease were a harpy that would swoop down and carry her away if it heard her.

  ‘And the duchessa has not visited? I thought it was her orphanage?’

  ‘Sister Rosa runs it really. The duchessa is in mourning, she doesn’t leave the palazzo – everyone knows it. But if only we were allowed to go to the Palio, just think who might see us!’

  ‘Why would that matter?’ asked Sofia.

  ‘Someone might wish to adopt us,’ said Carmela wistfully. ‘Though sometimes we are adopted without meeting our new parents. There was a girl, Artie. She got adopted only last week – it happened overnight. We were all so surprised. She’d been sick you see, but then one night she was just gone! Isn’t it marvellous?’

  It sounded strange to Sofia and offered another danger she had not considered. What if someone saw – not her, for she could look fierce if she needed to – but Ermin? With his sweet face and soft curls, he would be a treasure. She eyed him, considering. She would have to dirty his face. Not that they would stay here for long.

  With the bowls empty, they were passed down to the end of each row and carried inside. Ermin was at the end of his row, and the boys’ bowls teetered in his hands. Carmela was just about to lift her own crockery tower when Sofia caught hold of her sleeve.

  ‘I’ll take them.’

  ‘It’s just inside to the right. You’ll have to wash up, too.’

  ‘I don’t mind.’

  Carmela handed them over and went back to excitedly discussing the Palio with her friends.

  Sofia followed Ermin into the shadowy corridor. He was already well ahead of her, concentrating on the balancing bowls.

  ‘Ermin, slow down.’

  She hurried to catch him just as he pulled up and she collided with him, sending bowls and spoons flying down the corridor.

  ‘Ermin!’ chided Sofia, as though it were not half her fault.

  ‘I didn’t—’

  Sofia cut him off, holding up her hand. ‘Go and put those in the sink. I’ll tidy these.’

  She grubbed around on her hands and knees, scooping up bowls with bad grace. At least none of the nuns had been there to see her make a mess. She stacked the bowls beside a closed door, trying to avoid the small pools of leftover stew dotted about. She sighed. She would have to wipe the corridor before the nuns saw.

  Reaching for a final bowl, Sofia heard a quiet creak behind her. She froze, expecting a nun’s sharp voice, but none came. The creak came again, a little louder this time, and Sofia wheeled round.

  At first, she saw nothing. The corridor was empty. Then, a tiny movement, like a moth, snagged on her vision. It made so little sense that at first her brain tried to dismiss it.

  The door beside the stack of bowls was open just a fraction and Sofia could see a slice of a large cupboard, lined with shelves. Through the gap, came a hand. A dark, nimble hand, with bite marks circling the thumb.

  As Sofia watched, too shocked to move, the bitten hand lifted a bowl from the stacked pile, together with a spoon, and withdrew back into the shadows of the barely opened door.

  It was so quick, she would have missed it had she blinked. But now Sofia’s surprise melted away, and before the door could be pushed closed she scrambled forwards and stuck her own fingers into the gap.

  ‘Ouch!’

  The door squeezed them painfully, and from inside the cupboard came a small gasp of surprise. Emboldened by the fact she had caught the thief unawares, Sofia placed her shoulder to the wood and shoved.

  She tumbled forwards, directly on top of the writhing figure.

  ‘Let go!’

  She saw his face bundled up in a scarf and his dark brown eyes, before the boy from the Palio kicked the door closed, plunging them into semi-darkness.

  ‘You!’

  ‘Let go,’ said the boy, panting. Sofia tightened her grip. ‘You’re hurting me.’

  ‘Good,’ snarled Sofia. ‘Give me back my locket.’

  ‘What?’ The boy wriggled, but Sofia was made strong by fury.

  ‘My locket! The locket you stole from me. At the Palio.’

  ‘I didn’t – ouch!’ Sofia had dug her fingers into his bruised hand. ‘Fine! Fine. You can have it.’

  She loosened her grip. ‘Come on then.’

  ‘I don’t have it with me.’ He danced away from Sofia’s grip. ‘I’ll get it!’

  She looked around them at the gloom of the cupboard. ‘What are you doing in here?’

  ‘None of your business.’

  ‘Why did you take my locket?’

  ‘It just fell off.’

  Sofia knew Mamma’s clasp would never fail like that.

  ‘But you were grabbing me.’ The boy stared at her impassively. Sofia ground her teeth. ‘Well go on then, get it.’

  ‘I will.’

  She stood up. In the cramped space she had to be careful not to hit her head on a shelf. ‘You coming?’

  The boy didn’t answer. Sofia hurrumphed and let herself out of the cupboard. The door slammed shut behind her.

  ‘Rude,’ she muttered, tapping her foot and waiting for him to emerge. She would tell Sister Rosa that one of her orphans was stealing bowls, hiding out in cupboards. She would tell the nun she’d seen him at the Palio.

  Ermin poked his head round the door to the kitchen. ‘I need your help.’

  Sofia bent to pick up the bowls, but her anger bubbled up again. There really was no call for the boy being so rude to her when he was the thief here. She opened the door again, ready to give him a piece of her mind.

  ‘Sofia?’ Ermin sounded impatient. ‘I can’t reach the soap.’

  But Sofia could not answer him. For the second time in as many minutes, she was struck dumb.

  The cupboard was empty.

  Sofia’s mind churned as Ermin gabbled about his class.

  ‘We were making joins,’ said Ermin proudly. ‘And I made the best ones. Father Retto says I’m a born carpenter.’

  ‘I don’t care about the lessons,’ said Sofia huffily. ‘Ermin, listen.’

  She told him about the locket, the boy, his disappearing act from the cupboard. Once they had dried up, she took him and showed him. It was still empty.

  ‘Are you sure he didn’t just hide behind the door?’

  ‘There’s no room.’

  ‘Well,’ said Ermin slowly, and Sofia could tell he didn’t wholly believe her. ‘He’s not there now.’

  ‘Yes,’ snapped Sofia. ‘I can see that.’

  ‘Mamma told you to keep that locket safe.’

  ‘Yes, I know that too!’

  ‘There you are.’ Sister Rosa was standing behind them. She moved quiet as a mouse. Her eyes bore into them. Sofia didn’t know if she was being paranoid, but it felt like Sister Rosa stared at them more intently than at the other children. Perhaps Sofia would wait to tell her about the boy in the cupboard. ‘Time for riposo.’

  The children began to file inside, and Sister Rosa ushered Ermin into the boys’ line, gesturing for Sofia to join the girls’ line.

  Sofia’s heart was still galloping and though she joined the queue and filed obediently out under the watchful gaze of the Sisters, washing her dusty feet with a cloth and slipping into the clean, musty sheets for the afternoon nap, she knew she would not be able to sleep.

  Sofia was not alone
in her restlessness. But the other girls were abuzz with excitement, not confusion. All their whispered talk was of the Palio, and the possibility of finding a family.

  ‘Do you think Sister Rosa will let us wear different clothes if we’re allowed to go?’ whispered Carmela.

  ‘I doubt it,’ said a tall girl called Lucia. ‘But we could brush out our hair and leave it down.’

  ‘Artie had nice hair,’ said Carmela, nodding. ‘Do you think that’s why she was chosen?’

  ‘But Guilia didn’t,’ said Lucia thoughtfully. ‘And she was the first one. Nor Laura, or Stella.’

  ‘And boys never have nice hair,’ said a stubby-nosed girl called Flavia. ‘And some of them got chosen, didn’t they?’

  ‘Who chose them?’ asked Sofia.

  ‘We don’t know,’ said Carmela longingly. ‘They went overnight. They didn’t even say goodbye. I would have thought at least Maria would have come back to visit.’

  ‘I wouldn’t come back,’ said Flavia decidedly. ‘Sorry, but if I get chosen, I’m never setting foot in here again.’

  ‘When,’ corrected Carmela. ‘When you get chosen.’ She beamed round at them. ‘We all will, I can feel it.’

  Sofia ducked her head. She already had a family and held no desire for some rich woman to come in the night and take her away. She needed to get herself and Ermin out of here, and fast. She thought then of the mysterious boy, how he seemed able to come and go. ‘Do people ever just . . .’ She paused, wondering how to put it. ‘Vanish?’

  ‘Escape, you mean?’ Lucia sounded scandalized. ‘Life’s no better out there than in here. There’s no water, and people are still poor from the pox. The duchessa looks after us.’

  ‘Was there a boy, who left? Or maybe he hasn’t. He looks . . .’ But Sofia wasn’t sure how he looked. His face had been covered each time. She flapped her hand. ‘He has brown eyes.’

  Carmela wrinkled her nose. ‘So do lots of people.’

  ‘He hides his face.’ She looked from Carmela to Flavia. ‘He was in the big cupboard by the kitchen. You’ve not seen him?’

  Flavia was eyeing Sofia warily. ‘Sounds like you’re imagining things.’

  Sofia knew she was not imagining him. The boy had saved her from the horses and stolen her locket. She had bitten his hand and wrestled him in the cupboard. But where had he gone?

  Sofia had never felt more powerless in all her life. Mamma had brought her up to believe she and Ermin could achieve anything they set their minds to, but here in the orphanage she was learning that children were seen as a thing apart. More than that, girls were seen as less capable than boys and trusted only with the soft work of cloth and thread. She missed Ermin, missed Corvith and, most of all, longed for Mamma. Mamma would know what to do.

  Sister Rosa arrived to wake them and they filed out under her watchful gaze. The nun’s fixed smile now decidedly gave Sofia the creeps.

  They were ushered back down the stairs, into the ground floor corridor, but this time to a room at the far edge of the orphanage, the smell of tar soap strong in the air. Piles of clothes were heaped before the wooden vats of water, freshly boiled and steaming, and a furnace like the one at home roared in the corner, making Sofia’s scalp prickle with sweat. One pile was muddy with the grey of their uniform, another the black of the nuns’ habits.

  ‘This half, those. This half, those.’ Sister Rosa smiled again as she divided them down the middle.

  Sofia sighed as she realized the boys would not be joining them to help, and moved obediently to the pile of black with Carmela, Lucia and Flavia. They each took up a paddle and looked at Sofia expectantly. She realized that she was to move the dirty clothes into the vats, so they could stir them.

  The fabric of the nuns’ robes was softer than the children’s coarse linen – a fine cotton that was as buttery as Sofia’s bed sheets at home. Sofia could only manage a couple at a time, so voluminous was the material. It was slow work, lifting and then waiting for the cloth to be washed, then placing it through the wringer. This was the hardest job and, again, was left to Sofia as the new girl.

  Her arms ached as they reached the bottom of the pile. The wringer’s handle was stiff and chafed her palms. They never used one at home, letting clothes dry in the sun – spread across the branches of the olive trees, lavender stuffed in pockets so they were filled with their scent. A wave of homesickness punched at Sofia’s gut, but a moment later she saw something that made her throat close with fear.

  A shadowy figure, shooting beneath her, past a vent in the floor.

  Her fingers stumbled on the wringer’s handle and she let the robes drop with a wet slap to the floor. As she watched, the vent opened a crack and that same, bitten hand slipped out, snatching a white washcloth.

  ‘Tut, tut,’ said Sister Rosa merrily, sweeping over to her. ‘These will have to be rewashed—’

  The nun stopped short as she reached Sofia, and her smile dropped. She cast a sharp glance from the vent, to the girls clustered round the vats. They were talking and laughing softly as they stirred, intent on their work and each other.

  ‘This is ruined, child.’ Sister Rosa turned back to Sofia, that fixed smile back on her face and her voice so sweet it made Sofia’s teeth ache. ‘You must learn when to pay more attention. And when to pay less.’

  Sofia felt the nun’s eyes on her as she guided them back into the yard for their hour of evening play. Sister Rosa knew what Sofia had seen under the floor, she was sure of it.

  Did Sister Rosa know about the boy’s presence? And, if she did, why did she allow it? If he was simply a thief, she should get him removed. But what if there was more to it? Something strange was happening here – and Sofia was convinced it was something bad. She had to get Ermin away from the orphanage as soon as possible.

  Her brother was amongst the last of the boys to emerge from their workshop into the yard. She could tell from the sawdust on his cheek they had been building things again.

  Several of the boys were throwing themselves into the dirt after the ball of rags, and Sofia gritted her teeth. They were thoughtless with their clothes because they didn’t have to wash them whereas the girls were careful, knowing it would be them hunched in that hot, horrid room getting out stains.

  ‘We made hinges, Sofia,’ chattered Ermin, running up to her. ‘And the teacher says mine are the finest—’

  ‘We have to go,’ hissed Sofia, gripping him tightly.

  ‘But we don’t have permission—’

  ‘Without permission.’ She was looking round, but Sister Rosa was nowhere to be seen. ‘Now.’

  ‘I . . .’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I don’t . . . I think I want to stay here, Sofia.’ Spotting the rage on her face, he hurried on. ‘Just for a little bit. If Mamma really is going to be gone a while—’

  ‘Don’t say that,’ said Sofia harshly.

  ‘But we’re looked after here. We’re fed and our clothes are cleaned—’

  ‘We clean your clothes, you dolt. The girls.’

  ‘Well,’ said Ermin mulishly, jutting out his chin. ‘I quite like it here.’

  ‘Only because you’re the teacher’s pet,’ said Sofia meanly. ‘Only because you like the attention.’

  ‘Sofia, I—’

  ‘And you’ve given up on Mamma already. We only have that nun’s word about what happened to her, and I don’t trust her. I think she knows about the boy I saw earlier—’

  ‘Are you sure you saw him?’

  ‘—and something strange is going on. We have to go, and we have to go tonight.’

  ‘Corvith,’ said Ermin suddenly.

  ‘Exactly. Corvith needs us and—’

  ‘No, Corvith!’ Ermin was pointing now, and Sofia glanced up as a muffled caw came from above them. A boy nearby gasped at the sky.

  ‘Those magpies, they’re fighting!’

  Sofia shielded her eyes from the low afternoon sun. She did not immediately spot the two shapes silhouetted against t
he glare but when she did, she cried out too.

  Like Ermin, Sofia knew it was not two magpies. She would recognize Corvith anywhere. Their crow had found them, but he had also found trouble.

  ‘No, no, no!’

  A magpie was pecking and diving at Corvith. A black feather was pulled from Corvith’s wing and he let out a squawk of pain that made her heart ache.

  ‘He’s hurting him!’ Tears sprang into Sofia’s eyes. She felt completely helpless.

  Corvith began to fall, his wing crumpling. Ermin rushed forwards, holding out his arms. Corvith landed in them with a soft thump and cawed pitifully. Sofia hurried towards Ermin, glancing round to check if the nuns had seen, but the yard was unsupervised.

  ‘Eurgh,’ said Flavia, wrinkling her nose. ‘Don’t touch it.’

  ‘Sister Rosa will never let you take that bird inside,’ said Carmela, a little more kindly. ‘You’ll have to hide it.’

  Sofia stroked Corvith with her thumb, thinking hard. There was no way of smuggling Corvith to their dormitory in their pocketless tunics and he was obviously in no condition to fly, though thankfully his injuries did not seem too serious. She could see a little blood but he let her stroke his wing gently, which meant it was likely not broken.

  ‘Sofia?’ Ermin’s voice trembled and she squeezed his arm, their fight forgotten. ‘What shall we do?’

  Casting another quick glance round the yard, Sofia pulled him wordlessly back inside to the cupboard where the boy had been hiding earlier. It was still unlocked. She took a bowl from the shelf, and tore off some fabric from the hem of her tunic to make Corvith a little nest.

  ‘Here,’ she said, taking the crow from Ermin’s arms and placing him gently down. ‘We’ll come back for him.’

  ‘Tonight?’

  ‘As soon as the others are asleep.’ She smiled in what she hoped was a reassuring manner, but she felt her lip wobble. It had been awful seeing Corvith attacked like that.

  Ermin nodded, stroking the crow before Sofia lifted him up to a high shelf so that he would not be easily spotted.

  ‘You’ll be all right, Corvith. Stay quiet, all right?’