A Secret of Birds & Bone
Page 14
The hairpin was warm in her hand as Sofia felt for the tiny hole in the locket’s side she had noticed at the Palio. The joins were so fine it took Sofia two attempts to slide the hairpin in. There was a little click, and suddenly the locket opened in an entirely new formation. It looked nothing like the locket any more, its halves rotating away from each other and back, like a book with a cracked spine.
‘Che cavolo,’ she whispered and instead of chiding her language, Mamma laughed.
‘I am rather proud of it,’ she said.
‘But why make it at all?’ asked Sofia.
‘To control the river,’ said Mamma. ‘When Ermin was sick, I diverted it and never gave the water back. I put my family above so many others. But you will right my wrong, Sofia. I raised you to be a better person than me.’
Sofia held the locket up to the light. ‘Show me how.’
Ermin caught up with them as they trudged up the hill, the orphans distracted by a game of catch played with olives.
‘Well,’ said Ermin. ‘What’s been going on?’
Mamma and Sofia looked at each other and laughed. It was such a simple question, with such a difficult answer.
‘What’s so funny?’ said Ermin.
‘It’s up to Sofia,’ said Mamma. ‘It’s her story as much as mine.’
‘When you’re old enough,’ said Sofia. Ermin shoved her gently as Corvith landed on her shoulder. ‘All right!’
She told him as briefly as she could all that Mamma had revealed to her, saving her gift until last.
‘You saved me?’ gasped Ermin.
‘Yes, so you can do my chores for the rest of your life,’ said Sofia.
‘I saved you plenty of times in the tunnels,’ said Ermin. ‘I think we’re even.’
‘Fine,’ said Sofia, sticking out her tongue. But she was more nervous than she seemed. The locket was smooth in her hand, the familiar finger-bone hairpin warm from her skin. It seemed impossible that this, so small and lovely, would undo some of the damage Mamma and Duchessa Machelli had done.
But after all, hadn’t she and Ermin saved the children? Hadn’t they found Mamma and exposed the duchessa for what she really was? Small things could change the world. She would never underestimate herself again.
‘Here we are,’ said Mamma, tapping the well. Her fingertip brushed the place where their initials intertwined: ‘R’ for Renata, ‘S’ for Sofia, ‘E’ for Ermin and the ‘C’ for Corvith that Sofia had etched there when she was younger. Sofia brushed her fingers into the water, feeling the power pulse through her. She had a gift, just like Mamma – but unlike Mamma she was going to share it. She wasn’t going to keep it only for herself and their family.
She lifted the locket and pressed it at the point where the letters overlapped.
The bone outlines clicked downwards. Sofia twisted the key and the bones rotated, moving into a new formation like a flower or a whirlpool. There was a sucking sound, as there had been when the saint’s spring emptied.
Their well began to drain and Sofia imagined she was carried on the tide of released water, watching as all Mamma’s and the Fioris’ clever hinges and cogs turned. She imagined rock falls, like the one they’d encountered, rising with dams giving and the tunnels filling. She almost felt the joy of the water as it flooded its rightful paths, draining the cathedral tower and washing away all the sin that had been done there – the bone city compass sinking as the well levels rose. Relief rushed through her, cool and tingly and as right as a lock finding its key.
‘That’s it?’ she murmured.
‘That’s it,’ said Mamma.
‘Look!’ Carmela called.
Sofia shielded her eyes and saw a sight she had never seen before and would never see again.
From the city came two great waves: one of people running on the ground and another of magpies, swarming the sky. She tilted her head back as shadows flooded overhead.
The magpies were fleeing, led by the huge shape of Orsa, and below their feathery canopy a lone figure rode a massive white horse. Sofia shielded her eyes and looked closer. Even at a distance, Sofia could recognize the glint of a veil. Duchessa Machelli was being chased from the city.
The orphans cheered as they watched her, the citizens dropping their pursuit as she pounded across the fields and disappeared into a fold in the landscape. Sofia hoped she would never enter Siena again, or any place where she could wield her power to hurt.
‘What’ll happen now?’ asked Ermin.
‘We can tell the citizens the orphans are safe,’ smiled Mamma, pointing at the crowd, which now moved towards their hill. ‘They’ll fetch them and take good care of them.’
‘And then?’
‘The wells will fill and we’ll have a new leader. A kinder one.’
‘You can’t promise that,’ said Sofia. She knew she could not stay angry at Mamma for ever, but she couldn’t let her lie any more or make promises she couldn’t keep.
‘No,’ said Mamma. ‘But we can hope.’
‘And then?’ said Ermin.
‘Things will go back to normal,’ said Mamma.
‘No,’ said Sofia, her fingers still tingling from the well water as she slipped the locket back round her neck and handed Mamma her pin to tuck into her curls. Mamma took it and twisted up her hair.
‘It won’t be normal ever again,’ continued Sofia. ‘But that’s all right.’ She stroked Corvith. ‘Maybe it’ll be better.’
As they made their way back down to their bone house, the ground beneath the ancient boundary tree shifted. Sofia leapt back as the concealed trapdoor was thrown open and a dark figure emerged, spluttering.
‘Ghino!’ gasped Ermin, running forwards to help him to his feet. ‘Why are you here? You’re all wet!’
‘The tunnels,’ coughed Ghino. ‘The tunnels are filling with water. There I was, minding my own business, when this great wall of water comes spilling over me and carries off my root biscuit!’
‘I think you did him a favour there,’ winked Ermin at Sofia. But Sofia’s face was set in a scowl.
Ghino did not have time to say a word more before she shoved him, hard.
‘Sofia!’ snapped Mamma. Ghino looked crestfallen as Ermin hurried to help him up again.
‘He betrayed us,’ hissed Sofia. ‘He would have let us be caught and killed if it meant getting what he needed.’
‘It’s not true, Sofia,’ said Ghino urgently. ‘I never would have let them hurt you—’
‘But they would have! You see what monsters you were helping?’
‘I didn’t know!’ He grasped for her hand but she pulled away. ‘I only wanted to look . . . normal. I only wanted to not have to hide any more.’
‘Sofia,’ said Ermin. ‘I think we should forgive him.’
Sofia crossed her arms. She could not believe she had wasted some of her gift on saving this boy. He looked up at her like a kicked puppy and something in her softened.
‘I won’t forgive you.’
His eyes filled with tears.
‘Not yet, anyway.’ Sofia turned to Mamma. ‘I was thinking, we might need more help now that your workshop is open again.’ Mamma smiled. ‘Corvith fitted in well enough. Maybe we could have another orphan in the house . . .’
The hope on Ghino’s face was so painful Sofia felt a loosening in her chest, a thawing in her heart. ‘You’ll have to do my chores for a month.’
‘Sofia!’ chided Mamma, but Ghino nodded eagerly.
‘For a year, if I have to.’
The duchessa was right about one thing, Sofia thought. Being polite was not always the way to get what you want.
‘And you’ll have to promise not to hide your face any more. There’s nothing wrong with it.’
‘If you say so,’ said Ghino, but he was smiling.
Sofia sighed and pulled Ghino into a tight, if somewhat damp, hug.
‘Welcome home, thief.’
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I always start by thanking my famil
y, so this time I want to begin by saying the hugest, heartfelt thank you to my Chicken House family. Six years ago, I joined the coop and have been allowed to spread my wings in the most marvellous ways.
To Barry Cunningham, for taking a chance on this wide-eyed book-hugger. To Rachel Hickman, for beautiful covers and endless encouragement. To Elinor Bagenal for many happy memories at book fairs, and finding my stories homes all over the world. To Kesia Lupo, for her loveliness and friendship (and brilliant books). To Laura Myers, for her ceaseless patience and cat chats. To Jazz Bartlett Love, for her deep enthusiasm and generosity (and always a spare pen). To Esther Waller for making it always smooth sailing and calm seas. For Sarah Wallis-Newman, for style tips and kindness.
And of course for my editor, Rachel Leyshon – wise, generous, and annoyingly, achingly always, always right. Thank you for it all. For six years (and many more to come) of launches, conference calls, editorial emails, and boundless space for our stories to grow. A thousand times over, thank you.
Thank you to my agent Hellie Ogden, for being a constant champion and friend through the best, and the hardest, of times. Thank you to all the team at Janklow & Nesbit, UK and US.
Thank you to my mum Andrea, my dad Martyn, and my brother, John. You know it’s all because of you. Thank you to my grandparents. It’s quite a lot because of you, too. Thank you to my aunts and uncles around the world, and to my cousins. To Sabine especially, always. Thank you to Oscar and Luna, for trapping me at various writing desks.
Every book is enabled and inspired by my friends and family. This one began with a postcard from my mother-in-law Janis, saying ‘In the grounds of the ruined monastery, there was a charnel house.’ Thank you to her and Piers for opening Italy up to us. Thank you to my brothers- and sisters-in-law, and to my niblings Tilly, Fred, Emily, Pippa, Isla, and Ted.
Thank you to my best friends Sarvat Hasin, Daisy Johnson, and Tom de Freston. For writing, and for everything else.
Thank you to Jess, and Jessie, and Jess: the precious Jesses. Thank you to Lucy Ayrton, Paul Fitchett, Matt Bradshaw, Robin Stevens, David Stevens, Laura Theis, and Nick Myers, my Oxford family. Thank you to all my friends, especially the Tiffin Girls’ survivors, for advice and alcohol.
Thank you to Katie Webber, Kevin Tsang, and Evie Webber Tsang – wonders, all. Thank you to Maz Evans, Lucy Strange, and M.G. Leonard, the best of hens. Thank you to all my Chicken House author pals.
Thank you to Anna James, and Katherine Rundell for the adventures. Thank you to Sophie Anderson and her family for wild swimming and wilder tales. Thank you to Samantha Shannon, Melinda Salisbury, and Alwyn Hamilton for friendship and ferocity. Thank you to Onjali Raúf, Ross Montgomery, Patrice Lawrence, Krystal Sutherland, Sita Bramachari, Emma Carroll, Nikesh Shukla, Jessica Townsend, Katherine Arden, Elizabeth Macneal, and Jessie Burton, for their support and their stories.
Thank you, reader, for choosing this story. It’s yours, now.
Thank you to the twins, for making your mark briefly, indelibly, beautifully. How lucky we were.
Thank you to my husband, Tom. I love you much, I love you most.
Text © Kiran Millwood Hargrave 2020
First hardback edition published in Great Britain in 2020
This electronic edition published in 2020
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HB ISBN 978-1-911077-94-7
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