A Secret of Birds & Bone

by Kiran Millwood Hargrave

  ‘So-So!’ said the bird mournfully.

  They slipped from the cupboard and made it to the yard just before the pipes rattled with Sister Rosa’s voice.

  ‘Dinnertime, children.’

  Once they were fed and tucked up in bed, each of them was given a cup of milk and honey just as Sofia and Ermin had received the previous night. It smelt like heaven. How many times had Mamma made this for them, her clever hands working quick and light? The morning of Sofia’s birthday felt an age ago.

  Carmela and most of the others drank as soon as possible, burning their tongues and sighing, and Sofia felt a rush of sadness. Not for herself but for these children who were so excited for their milk and honey, who perhaps could not even remember their mothers placing a warm cup into their hands.

  ‘Here,’ she said and held out her cup to Carmela.

  ‘What?’ The girl blinked at her, surprised.

  ‘You can have it.’

  Carmela slipped from her bed and slid in beside Sofia, still looking uncertain. ‘Are you sure?’

  Sofia shifted to make more room and closed Carmela’s fingers round the cup. ‘I’m sure.’

  ‘That’s really kind.’

  ‘Thanks for being nice to me,’ said Sofia. ‘At sewing. I’m sorry about ruining the pillowcase. I was tired.’

  Carmela nodded and squeezed Sofia’s fingers lightly. ‘I was too, when I arrived.’

  It was with a slightly lighter heart that Sofia watched Carmela drain the second cup. Within an hour or two she would see Corvith and talk to Ermin. Then she would work out how to get them all home. The only thorn stinging her side was that boy, and how to get her locket back. But that was a problem for another day. In the meantime, she would become better friends with Carmela.

  Carmela didn’t return to her own bed – she was already asleep, her head lolling on to her shoulder. Sofia prodded her lightly, but the girl was softly snoring. Frowning, Sofia climbed carefully out of her bed and into Carmela’s, looking round to see if anyone had noticed what just happened.

  But the other girls were asleep, too. So Sofia lay down under Carmela’s sheets and wondered how long she should wait before sneaking out. At home, she never had to know what the time was – she always knew where her brother and mother were and what they were doing.

  No, said a small voice in her head. Not always. What had happened to Mamma? Why she had been so sad and why she had been arrested was another mystery Sofia felt needling under her skin like a splinter. She rubbed her hand roughly over her face, trying to wipe away the vision of Mamma being dragged away from the piazza.

  Sofia rolled on to her side, impatient for time to pass. Her eyes had adjusted to the gloom and she could see that in the bed next to her, Carmela’s eyes were shut and she was breathing deep and slow.

  The door creaked open. Sofia caught sight of someone in the doorway. Sister Rosa. Sofia lay very still. The figure seemed to stand there for a long time.

  Eventually, Sister Rosa stepped aside and pointed. A guard and his magpie passed her, creeping into the room.

  Sofia heard the floorboards creak near her bed and tried to slow her breathing. Was the guard checking each of them individually? She chanced a quick glance. The man was leaning over Carmela. He pointed at the bed and Sister Rosa nodded. The guard prodded the girl’s cheek: Carmela did not stir.

  Sofia watched through half-open lids as he placed a sack over Carmela’s head and lifted the girl from her bed. Sofia wanted to scream, but her voice was trapped in her throat. She must have made some noise because the guard turned so quickly, Carmela slung over his shoulder, that Sofia only just closed her eyes in time before she felt him loom above her. The magpie on his shoulder chattered softly.

  Sofia rolled over as if still asleep and only a little disturbed, keeping her eyes firmly shut. Her heart thudded, the sound so loud in her ears it was like a bell clanging through the orphanage pipes.

  But the presence moved away. There was a scraping sound before the door closed, and the room was plunged once more into darkness.

  Sofia leapt to her feet, staring in horror at the empty sheets on her bed. None of the other girls stirred. Sofia checked the other beds. All were sleeping soundly – too soundly. Her stomach roiled as she thought of Ermin. What if he had been taken?

  She slipped on her shoes and opened the door a crack. The corridor looked, and sounded, deserted. She slipped out and crept along it, keeping to the edges to stop the more worn boards at the centre from creaking.

  When she reached the top of the stairs, she listened. She heard a scraping sound and the grating of a gate. She moved quickly to the window at the end of the passage, just in time to see the sack-covered Carmela loaded on to a low cart. Sister Rosa swung herself up beside the cart driver and as she did so, Sofia saw the outline of breeches beneath her habit. Did nuns usually wear a uniform under their robes?

  The horse was whipped into action and soon vanished into the darkness of the street.

  Sofia’s heart was thunderous. She waited a little longer.

  Silence.

  She inched down the stairs. The ground floor corridor was empty. Moving towards the cupboard as though in a dream, everything feeling unreal in the faint moonlight, she hurried inside.

  ‘Sofia!’ Ermin’s panicked voice came fast and low.

  ‘Shhh!’ chided Sofia, relief flooding her body. ‘Ermin, quiet. There’s someone else up, someone taking children—’

  ‘Sofia,’ said Ermin, louder than before. ‘Corvith’s gone!’

  Sofia’s relief turned to ice. She felt along the highest shelf in the pitch black, searching for the bowl containing the precious crow. But when she found it, it held nothing but the fabric from her tunic.

  Her head span. ‘He can’t be – there’s no way . . .’

  A grinding sound came through the dark. Ermin clutched her. ‘What was that?’

  The sound came again, like the scraping sound she had heard earlier – but closer. It was coming from inside the cupboard. No – she listened harder. The sound was coming from behind the cupboard. From a solid wall.

  ‘Sofia . . .’

  She heard Ermin scrabbling for the door handle, but before he found it there was a final, high-pitched grating sound that set her teeth on edge. Cold air, as sudden as a wave, crashed into her, sucking at her hair and tunic. Light rushed in with it: an orange, wavering light.

  An amused voice emerged from the shadows. ‘Hello.’

  Alamp was thrust into the space between Sofia and Ermin. And, illuminated in its light, was the half-hidden face of the thief.

  ‘How—’

  ‘Shhh!’ The thief reached out and clasped Sofia’s wrist. ‘This way.’

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘You’re making a racket,’ chided the boy.

  ‘Where’s Corvith?’

  ‘The crow? He was making a racket, too, so I moved him. Follow me.’

  And he stepped, not through the wall, but into it. By the lamp’s glow Sofia could see that part of the back wall of the cupboard was missing, the edges clean and the space beyond it dark and smelling of earth.

  The boy turned back to look at them. ‘Come on, your crow’s waiting.’

  Ermin needed no further encouragement. He followed the boy through the hole. Sofia leant forward. There was a slope leading down, away from the cupboard.

  Sofia lowered herself carefully into the tunnel, which was big enough to stand in. Her knees jarred painfully as she tried to control her pace. The boy made his way back up the slope and lifted the section of wall back into place, covering the hole they had just passed through.

  ‘What is this?’

  ‘A tunnel,’ said the boy unhelpfully. ‘Quickly.’

  Sofia followed, gripping on to Ermin’s shoulder, round a shallow bend.

  ‘Here we are.’

  ‘Corvith!’ Ermin hurried forward. The crow was settled in his bowl in the centre of the tunnel. Beneath him was a white cloth, and Sofia
recognized it as the one she’d dropped in the laundry room.

  When Corvith saw them, he gave a beleaguered squawk as if to say what took you so long.

  ‘I gave him some crumbs and water,’ said the boy. He was standing a little way off, watching them uncertainly. ‘He seems all right. Just a bit grumpy.’

  ‘That’s normal,’ said Ermin.

  Sofia lifted the crow into her lap. He seemed much recovered, his wing smooth with no sign of blood.

  ‘You shouldn’t have moved him—’

  ‘What she means is, thank you,’ interrupted Ermin. ‘Thank you for helping him. I’m Ermin.’

  ‘Ghino,’ said the boy, holding out his hand for Ermin to shake. He held out his hand to Sofia, too, and she eyed his grimy palm warily.

  ‘This is Sofia,’ said Ermin. ‘She’s not usually so prickly.’

  ‘I’m not being prickly,’ said Sofia, in a particularly spiky voice. ‘I just don’t know why he brought Corvith down here.’

  ‘He was safer here.’

  ‘And where is here? And don’t’ – she glared at Ghino – ‘say a tunnel.’

  ‘Well,’ said Ghino, leaning on the rough earth wall. ‘That is what it is.’

  ‘All right, but why is it here. Why are you here?’

  ‘I live here.’

  ‘In the tunnel?’ Ermin gawped at him.

  ‘This one, and others. I have the whole place to myself.’ He stretched his arms out.

  ‘Doesn’t look like much,’ said Sofia scathingly.

  ‘That’s where you’re wrong.’ Ghino looked round proudly, like he was the duchessa showing off her palazzo. ‘These tunnels, they go under the whole of Siena. It’s my very own city.’

  ‘You’re an escaped orphan?’ Sofia gestured at his tunic, the same as she and Ermin wore.

  Something like hurt flashed across Ghino’s face.

  ‘Sofia,’ hissed Ermin.

  ‘Why are you dressed like that?’ Sofia persisted.

  ‘I sometimes borrow things,’ said Ghino, looking at her defiantly. ‘Clothes, food—’

  ‘Bowls,’ snapped Sofia. ‘Spoons. Lockets.’

  ‘Crockery is rather hard to come by down here.’

  ‘And you give it back?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You said you borrow things.’ She crossed her arms, causing Corvith to grumble and hop on to Ermin’s lap instead. ‘You return them then?’

  ‘Not so far.’

  ‘So, you’re a thief.’

  Ghino shrugged. ‘They don’t notice things go. Though they might realize you’re missing.’

  ‘What about your face,’ said Sofia. ‘Why do you hide it? It makes you look shifty.’

  ‘Sofia!’ Ermin said. ‘You’re being rude.’

  The boy glared at her, and she glared back. ‘Well?’

  ‘You should get back to bed,’ said the boy stonily. ‘I can look after Corvith until he’s better.’

  ‘We’re not going back,’ said Sofia, remembering suddenly the more urgent matter of what she had seen. ‘I think Sister Rosa is taking children.’

  Ermin frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘She takes them at night, takes them . . . somewhere. The girls were saying they get adopted, but I think she steals them.’

  ‘Bit hard to steal a person,’ said Ghino, laughing a little too loudly.

  ‘And you’d know all about stealing,’ snapped Sofia. ‘I think she puts something in the milk.’

  ‘Honey?’ said Ermin, confused.

  ‘Something to make them sleep. You didn’t drink yours, did you?’

  ‘No, I . . .’ He looked at Ghino, as though embarrassed by what he was about to say. ‘It made me think of Mamma. I gave it away.’

  ‘So did I,’ said Sofia, nodding. ‘I gave mine to Carmela and she was taken.’

  Sofia told them about Carmela being bundled away by the guard, and the cart at the gates. ‘That nun’s up to something.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Ghino, shrugging. ‘Maybe she got adopted.’

  ‘But it was my bed,’ said Sofia.

  ‘Then maybe you were meant to be adopted. You should go back and find out.’

  Sofia narrowed her eyes at him. ‘Do you think I’m stupid?’

  ‘Clearly,’ said Ghino, in such an insufferable tone Sofia’s patience snapped.

  She lunged at him. She wanted her locket back and perhaps he was wearing it under the scarf, around his neck. She caught him by surprise and he knocked the lamp sideways, sending shadows spurting crazily up the walls.

  Corvith squawked indignantly and Ermin shouted at her to stop, but Sofia’s hand had already caught in the snarl of cloth and she pulled it loose.

  ‘No!’ cried Ghino as the scarf fell to the floor. The locket wasn’t round his neck, but now Sofia saw why he kept his face hidden.

  Craters, deep enough to put her thumb into, dotted his jaw with scar tissue, matting about his mouth. He was scarred by the pox.

  He moaned and snatched his cloth.

  ‘I’m . . . I’m sorry,’ stuttered Sofia. ‘I just wanted my locket.’

  ‘Here’s your stupid locket,’ snapped the boy, digging in his pocket while his other hand wrapped the scarf back round his face. He flung it at Sofia. She caught and inspected it. It was un-damaged, and still locked. She reclasped it round her neck, and despite her shame, feeling its light presence against her chest again was a relief.

  ‘You don’t need to hide your face,’ said Ermin, watching the boy as he righted the lamp. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  Ghino laughed hollowly, tucking the ends of the cloth into his tunic so only his eyes showed, angry and fearful, over the top. ‘Tell that to people up top.’

  ‘I am sorry,’ said Sofia. ‘The locket. My mamma made it.’

  The boy kicked at the ground. ‘Done now.’

  ‘It’s not that bad,’ said Sofia. ‘Really—’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ snapped Ghino. ‘Did you see where they took the girl?’

  ‘West maybe? I can’t be sure. But I don’t think we should go back to the orphanage. Is there a way of getting out of the city, beyond the boundary?’

  ‘The tunnels stretch all over. They’re old riverbeds, sewers and catacombs. They link pretty much the whole city.’

  ‘But why do you live here?’

  ‘Look at me.’ Ghino dropped his gaze. ‘I was never meant to be up top.’

  ‘Were you born like that?’

  ‘Ermin!’ It was Sofia’s turn to be disapproving, but Ghino shook his head.

  ‘It was the pox.’

  ‘I had it too,’ said Ermin.

  ‘Really?’ Ghino searched Ermin’s face. ‘You’re lucky you weren’t scarred. I used to live up top, in a village a few miles away. But my parents . . .’ Again that look of pain, fast as breath, flickered on his face. ‘Well, when I got sick my brother did too. He was the favourite, I know he was, and . . .’ Ghino swallowed. ‘He didn’t make it. I survived but was scarred so badly, they couldn’t look at me. They didn’t want the reminder. They called me a curse.’

  Sofia felt her face flush and clasped her locket. She felt badly for revealing his face, especially when it brought up such painful memories.

  ‘What happened?’ asked Ermin.

  ‘My parents tried to heal me. They brought me here, to Siena. They took me to the cathedral, pressed relics on to my skin – the nail of Saint Peregrine, the hair of Saint Lucia – but nothing worked. I heard them saying they were going to have me locked up, in a hospital. So I ran away. It’s better for me here anyway. Who wants parents?’

  ‘Our mamma is wonderful,’ said Ermin reverently.

  ‘Well,’ said Ghino defiantly. ‘I like being alone.’

  But he looked miserable, and Sofia suspected he was lonelier than he’d admit.

  ‘Anyway,’ he said, seeming to pull himself together, ‘outside the boundary you said? We can get there by sunrise. And as we go, you can tell me about your
wonderful mother. This way.’

  The tunnel seemed to go on endlessly, unspooling like a dark river. But Sofia barely noticed. Her mind was elsewhere, full of questions.

  The nuns would surely come looking for them in the charnel house, but they could set Corvith to watch and hide in the olive grove if anyone came. And they would work out what, if anything, could be done about the taken girls. Perhaps they could get a message to Duchessa Machelli, that Sister Rosa was stealing children. Perhaps, in return, she would release Mamma. But why had the guards taken her prisoner anyway? What had Mamma been doing at the palazzo? The need for answers gnawed at her like tiny burrowing insects.

  The tunnels were, as Ghino had said, a mishmash of rough earth, cobbled stone and chambers of bone that Mamma would have loved to see. More paths twisted off from the one they took, but Ghino seemed sure of himself. He marked the walls with a chip of chalk as they went, and Sofia knew they had no choice but to trust him.

  As they passed through a catacomb with great, arching walls and hollows full of skeletons, Sofia came to an abrupt halt before a collapsed tunnel. Ermin, who had been cooing over Corvith, walked straight into the back of her.

  ‘It’s just a rock fall,’ said Ghino, stopping too. ‘It’s always been there.’

  ‘Wait.’ Sofia was staring at the rocks.

  ‘What?’

  But Sofia couldn’t speak. As Ghino shone the lamp across the walls, something above her had caught her eye . . . and it filled her with more hope, and more dread, than anything she had seen so far on this dizzying day.

  ‘Sofia?’ Ermin was looking at her uncertainly. ‘You look . . .’

  But Sofia was pointing, and Ermin raised his head too. He gasped.

  Ghino turned to them both.

  ‘What?’ He shone the lamp on the stones above them. ‘What are you looking at?’

  Sofia cleared her throat, unable to dislodge the lump stuck there, and answered in a tiny voice, ‘Mamma.’

  Ghino waved his hand before Sofia’s eyes. ‘Did you hit your head?’

  Sofia pushed his hand away impatiently. ‘Look.’ She could not reach the small patch of white in the rock, but it was clear what they were. A series of cogs inlaid into the stone. Wafer thin. Bone white. And there, attached to the cogs by a metal thread so thin it looked like a crack in a rock, was a boulder. A counterweight.