Oy Yew (The Waifs of Duldred Trilogy Book 1) Page 16

  Oy nodded vigorously. ‘I found out that Linnet’s not well. Master’s putting something in the factory water and he’s trying the same on us.’

  ‘I heard about it. The sooner you get her out the better. Tomorrow suit?’

  ‘What do I have to do?’

  Bram explained carefully. It seemed he had thought of everything. ‘Now, I better tell you what else I found out.

  ‘I got myself work as a potboy at the Carter’s Inn in Crust. I thought it would be a good place for gleaning gossip. I learned some useful things there. The regular Duldred carter ain’t happy. He still gets factory to Duldred trips now and again, but he’s lost most of his fares to the harbour. He has a good moan about that when he can’t afford to pay for another beer. Then there’s an odd pair who sit by themselves in a corner. They don’t talk to the others much, but they never run short of money. I saw one take a roll of notes from his pocket, must’ve been a hundred mariats in it. I made it my business to serve these two extra well. They got used to me fussing round their table and talked in front of me like I was one of the Inn’s guard hounds. They’d talk about the next day’s jobs, and one eve they mentioned Duldred as their destination on the following night. There was nowhere to stow on their cart so all I could do was come out here myself and watch for their cargo. It was a waif as you might guess. Poor thing. They bundled him in and he was none too willing. One moved to the back and sat very close to him. There was another waif came out with him.’

  ‘Raymun.’

  ‘Old face, child’s body?’

  Oy nodded.

  ‘I could see his face in the carriage light. Something was bothering him, but he waved them off and closed the gates.’

  ‘Which way did they go?’

  ‘That’s the funny thing. They set off for Crust and I set off for a long walk home but it wasn’t long before I heard hoof beats again. I kept under the trees and back comes the cart, driving fast this time. I watched the carriage light for as long as I could. Quite high up the Glumaws it went before I lost it.’

  ‘Alas was right then.’

  ‘Looks like it. Anyway, there’s only one road back from the Glumaws and that’s the Duldred Road, so I decided to sit and wait. I thought I could make a guess at how far they’d taken him by how long it took them to come back.’

  ‘You had a long wait didn’t you?’ said Oy.

  ‘How’d you know?’

  ‘I’ve got the picture up. There’s snow.’

  ‘You could be right because it was near dawn when the clopping waked me. One man was asleep and the driver was nodding. I flagged him down and asked for a ride back to Crust. He knew my face from the Inn so he told me to climb up and keep him awake. I told him I’d been out trapping but had no luck. “It’s overhunted down here,” I said, “I’ll head up and join the big trappers next time. Is that where you been, taking supplies up to the trappers?”

  ‘“Yes,” he says.

  ‘“It must take a lot of skill driving a cart on those narrow mountain roads,” I says. “I bet a cart couldn’t get any further than the trapper’s camp.”

  ‘“Oh, I been up past the tree-line,” he tells me.

  ‘“Never,” says I.

  ‘“I’ve raced avalanches on tracks where there’s no more than a hand’s width between my wheels and long miles of crystal air,” says he.

  ‘“Not last night?” I said. He gave me a funny look then.

  ‘“No, not last night,” he says, and didn’t say much more the whole journey. But I reckon from the time it took them, and the brags he was making, that they went at least as far as the Wolflands. If they was going to finish him off they wouldn’t have bothered to go so far.’ Oy shrank like a flower closing at dusk. ‘Sorry – hadn’t you thought of that? No, I reckon they took him just far enough that he can’t get back.’

  ‘M for mountains,’ said Oy. ‘Poor Kurt.’

  ‘All’s not lost. Where there’s life. And what are Porians known for?’

  ‘Survivin’ ways.’

  ‘That’s right, so cheer up now. Here, rinse your hands,’ he offered his water bottle, ‘and have some bread and honey.’ Oy smiled his thanks. Bram shook his head. ‘Just when you think there’s nothing new in the world, something comes along and surprises you.’ Oy looked at him questioningly. ‘Your eyes,’ said Bram. ‘They changed colour just now, flashed violet as that flower there. Gave me a wobble down here.’ Bram patted his stomach.

  Oy picked at the grass. ‘I don’t want to be odd.’

  Bram touched the side of Oy’s head. ‘It’s a good odd. Don’t worry about it. Probably just a trick of the light. Eat up, that honey cost me a few stings.’

  ‘Got you!’ Jeopardine leapt across the gap between the bushes with a swish of his bird-catching net. A tiny drum-bat fluttered and squeaked inside the mesh. Jeopardine grasped its wings and splayed them out. ‘A prettier set of bones I haven’t caught in a long time.’

  Bram and Oy stared frozenly across the clearing. Jeopardine only had to turn round and he would see them. Bram pushed Oy’s head down at the same time as lowering himself very slowly sideways. Jeopardine moved away almost putting his foot in the open manhole.

  ‘Poor little thing,’ whispered Oy.

  ‘Ooh, that got my heart going,’ Bram said, slapping his chest as he got up. ‘How did I not see him coming?’

  ‘It’s because of his hunting suit.’

  ‘You’re right, that grey-green makes him near invisible. I could use a suit like that myself – cammyflage it’s called. Come on, you should get back before Raymun misses you.’

  Oy reached the manhole and hesitated. A white starflower lay crushed and bruised beneath the iron cover. Oy tried to straighten it but the stem lay limp over his finger.

  That night, no one wanted to ask, where was Oy? It seemed like tempting fate, but it was a relief to all of them when he walked in.

  ‘You’re late,’ said Alas. ‘Any bother?’

  ‘No,’ said Oy. ‘No bother.’

  They went back to their bread.

  ‘Oy,’ said Lucinda after a while, ‘I know you’re a slow eater but that bread’s about to fall out of your hand.’

  ‘I’ll have it if you ain’t hungry,’ said Blinda.

  Oy handed the bread over.

  ‘Don’t be soft,’ said Blinda, handing it back, ‘I was only joking.’

  Oy seemed not to hear. ‘I got something to tell and something to ask,’ he said.

  ‘Come over here then,’ said Lucinda, ‘so’s we can hear you properly.’

  ‘I met up with Bram again today. Alas was right.’ Oy told them what Bram had seen of Kurt’s journey.

  ‘Wish I hadn’t helped him stretch,’ said Billam.

  ‘Wasn’t your fault,’ said Gritty.

  Lucinda sighed. ‘Well, it’s not final is it? I mean it’s awful cold up there but I’ve heard about people living in snowholes.’

  Alas left off chewing his nails. ‘We’ll keep hoping.’

  ‘What was it you wanted to ask, Oy?’ said Lucinda.

  ‘Is it alright to go out tomorrow night?’

  The mood in the basement changed to wonder.

  ‘I wouldn’t mind that myself,’ said Jakes, ‘what say we all go down to the Tipsy Tup for a bowl of mead?’

  ‘What do you mean, out?’ said Lucinda.

  ‘Proper out. I need to go and get Linnet now. She’s sick; the new waif told me. I can’t wait no longer. I got to take her somewhere safe where she can wait and then we’ll all get out and then she can join us.’

  ‘Wait a minute, that’s a lot to take in,’ said Alas.

  ‘Bram’s got a plan. He knows a way I can get into the factory through the drains. I just need you all to cover for me at counting in, and in the morning.’

  Lucinda shook her head. ‘Oy, if this goes wrong you’ll be in the baddest pickle.’

  ‘Prospects ain’t exactly bright, whatever,’ said Alas.

  ‘I got to do it,’ sa
id Oy.

  ‘All this talk of going’s giving me bumps,’ said Gritty, rubbing her arm. ‘If Oy can do it why can’t we all do it?’

  ‘That’s exactly what’s been going through my head,’ said Alas. ‘Especially now we know what happened to Kurt. But getting eleven out is a big job, the timing has got to be as tight as it can be. Oy can use tomorrow as a dummy run, find out exactly how long it takes to get out of Duldred and what head start we can expect. He’ll need a timepiece though. Billam, that’s your department: metals and kettles. Can you do anything?’

  ‘There’s a fob watch lying in a tray with some other things waiting for repairs. It’s only the chain that’s broke. It might not be missed for one night.’

  Raymun entered the basement with the firewood and the new waif.

  ‘Henret Scant,’ he said, ‘Pots ’n’ cots.’

  ‘You got my job,’ said Lizbuth.

  ‘You’ve to take over as winders,’ said Raymun. ‘Oy, I got a report you was away from your work today. Addle told me; she ain’t bad for an upservant. Any other would’ve gone straight to Master. What was you doing in the boundary scrub?’

  ‘I was… I was, came out the wrong way, out of the sewer,’ Oy mumbled.

  ‘Watch out for the Porcelain Parlour, Henret,’ Lizbuth spoke over Raymun. ‘I call it Punishment Parlour. It’s full of that blue-white stuff; thin as eggshells. You can see your fingers through it. Snaps in your hands if you’re not careful. You get punished if you break it and punished if you don’t clean it properly, so either way you get punished.’

  ‘It’s not punishment, it’s correction,’ said Raymun. ‘There’s a difference. Study your work properly and set about it willing-like. If you do that – I keep telling them, but they don’t listen – you’ll soon come to enjoy it.’

  ‘I’m starting to think you’re right, Raymun,’ said Lucinda. She walked him up the stairs, praising his philosophy.

  ‘I had to say that, Henret,’ said Lizbuth, ‘to get him off Oy’s back. Pots ain’t the worst job. You ain’t likely to have an accident making a bed or dusting a pot.’

  ‘Let her settle in before you go talking about accidents,’ said Alas.

  Lucinda did the introductions quickly then Gertie read a piece by their favourite news sheet writer, someone called the Septic Sceptic. He said that money wasn’t everything and the poor should be helped not used. Other people wrote in threatening to kill him. Henret yawned. ‘Why do this when you could be asleep?’ she said.

  ‘Wait a bit and you’ll understand,’ said Lizbuth.

  Gertie finished off with a story. The waifs knew it so well that some of them were mouthing the words. Gertie left off at a most exciting point.

  ‘Then what?’ Henret burst out.

  ‘See what I mean,’ said Lizbuth laughing. ‘You’re lucky. You don’t know the ending. It’ll give you something to look forward to tomorrow. You can take that bed space next to Oy.’

  ‘Before we sleep,’ said Lucinda, ‘we spare a thought for Kurt. Wherever he is we hope he sleeps well. That’s all I want to say.’

  Oy turned over quietly. His throat ached and his eyelashes were damp. Then he heard Henret breathing fast. He reached out and found her hand.

  27 A Night Out

  Oy had been gone for some hours when Raymun arrived to count in.

  ‘…four, five, six, seven, eight,’ Raymun emphasized, smirking at Lucinda, who rolled her eyes at fate. Tonight of all nights he had to learn the number eight. ‘Nine, ten, eleven. Eleven – who’s missing?’ Raymun looked round.

  ‘Let me count with you,’ said Lucinda, shooting a silent plea to the skies.

  ‘I thought I got it then,’ said Raymun.

  ‘One, two, three, four,’ they began together, ‘five, six, seven,’ Lucinda hesitated but Raymun came in firmly, ‘eight.’

  ‘Good, good,’ said Lucinda, patting him on the back and the head, muddling his senses, ‘ten,’ she continued, ‘eleven, twelve,’ they finished together. ‘All in,’ she said briskly. ‘You’ve really got it now Raymun.’ He looked puzzled. ‘About my schedule,’ she thrust it in front of him.

  ‘Stairs or chairs?’ he asked.

  ‘Chairs. What’s this symbol? I’ve forgotten.’

  ‘Oyster,’ Raymun laughed. ‘Mrs Midden’s drawing, it doesn’t get any better. I remember when she first arrived as a young girl, trying to copy from the old cook, her Aunt Bill. What a woman she was: she’d make two of Mrs Midden; always wore black, pressed till it had a shine to it, and a close black helmet. Anyway, the schedules went out and you’ve never known such a muddle, three waifs going to the same job because all the drawings looked the same.

  ‘Anyway, that there means oyster chairs. You’ve to use silver polish on the hinges, soapy water on the shell backs, brush the velvet – size 43/4 brush. Master’s aunt decorated that room, stuck all the shells in the plaster herself. She was at it fifteen years. She even took her meals in there, and it killed her in the end.’

  ‘How was that, Raymun?’ asked Gertie.

  ‘A fresh basket of shells had come up from the harbour. Cathuselah was found froze dead, prising a blue clam open – the one that stands on the side table now. A snapping scorpit was running up and down the skirting trying to find a way out of the room. They reckon it was hid inside the clam and it must have leapt out and got her. There was inkholes at her throat.’

  Lucinda shuddered.

  Raymun stuck his tongue in his cheek. ‘Well you did ask. Night all.’

  As the jingle of keys faded away, the waifs looked at each other and sighed with relief.

  ‘Wonder where he is now?’ said Alas.

  Oy had already passed beneath Duldred’s towering walls. He and Bram were well on their way towards Crust.

  ‘Check the time,’ said Bram.

  Oy pulled out the fob watch borrowed from metals.

  ‘Let me see that,’ said Bram. Oy passed him the watch. It slid, smooth and cool into Bram’s palm, a perfect tear drop of white gold. Bram whistled. He held it to his ear. Even its swishing tick sounded like rich, rich, rich. ‘How did you get your hands on this?’

  ‘Upservants ain’t trusted but we are, except with food. Master knows we ain’t going nowhere, so what good is gold to us?’

  ‘This would keep you and me in style for the rest of our lives,’ Bram said. ‘Mind if I hold on to it for a spell? I ain’t likely to get my hands on such quality again.’

  Oy looked back at him innocently.

  ‘Second thoughts, you keep it. I got freedom; that’s riches enough. Remember the time, six after eleven. We’re under Glumedge Lane. You’ll all be escaping from here.’

  They trudged on, nearing Crust towards midnight.

  ‘This is as far as I can go with you,’ said Bram. ‘I’m too grown for the tight places. Now if I’m right, the next tunnel runs straight under the factory wall, then it should start to bear left. Keep checking above you for hole covers. The first one should bring you up on the edge of the exercise yard. Don’t take that one. You should see the waste pipes coming in from block four. Look for a cover near there. That comes up in the waif compound near the wash house. It’ll be a squeeze though, even for you. You sure your friend ain’t much bigger’n you?’

  ‘She was the same as me, or littler p’raps.’

  ‘You still want to chance this?’

  Oy nodded.

  ‘On you go then. Let’s hope it doesn’t get too narrow for you.’

  ‘Bram, will you keep whistling?’

  ‘Course. Good luck.’

  Bram whistled ‘The Pieman of Poria’, thinking to remind Oy of happier days. Oy didn’t know the tune but he was grateful for its cheeriness as he crawled through the dark. After a while the whistling faded away. Oy’s knees hurt, he was cold and damp but he went on. The tunnel widened and looking up he saw the first hole cover. He was under the exercise yard already. Not far to go then. He smelled the waste pipes from block four, and put his hands in their
sludge. The tunnel narrowed. His shoulders brushed both sides and he had to flatten himself onto his belly. He could only edge forwards by wriggling. The sludge was pushed along building up in front of his chest. That was the worst part, but at last a space opened above his head. The second hole cover. He stood up and rolled his shoulders. Reaching up he pushed at the cover. It didn’t move. It wouldn’t move. He could tell just by the stubborn, iron feel of it against the flats of his hands. He took a deep breath and shoved again. Hopeless. He tried to remember what it looked like from above. Was it bedded in with dirt? He strained again with all his might then dropped his arms and pinched them, feeling for muscle. There wasn’t much of anything over the bone.

  ‘I got to get the picture up,’ he whispered to himself. Sly was the biggest man he knew. He pictured Sly at the pump in the morning, shirt off, dowsing his puffy eyelids first, then splashing his torso. As Oy slipped into character he motioned with his hands as though cupping water to his face. He felt the freshness streaming down his arms, and mimicked some dialogue he’d heard earlier that day:

  ‘Morning, Mrs Midden.’

  ‘Morning – it’s near noon.’

  ‘Thought I was peckish.’

  ‘You’d better come and try this pie then. It’s fresh from the oven.’

  ‘I can’t think of anything nicer.’

  Oy was inside Sly’s head or Sly was inside Oy’s. It wasn’t pleasant.

  ‘There’s a big slice of pie just behind this cover,’ Oy improvised. He raised one arm and it felt as thick as his entire body. ‘Now for the pie. I’m Sly. I’m Sly and I need pie.’ He flipped the cover aside.

  Astonished and small again, he pulled himself up and out. There was no pie, only the nobbly, ankle-twisting cobbles of the yard and behind him, rubbish stacked against the bricks of the wash-house. The waif sheds stood in rows up ahead. Oy started eagerly towards them, then he remembered the light shining on his head. If he put it out he had nothing to relight it with. Bram had overlooked that one. He hid the lamp as best he could between the stacks of rubbish where it glowed faintly. Now he was just a patch of deeper darkness heading for shed five. The sheds were not locked. The high fence of the compound was security enough. Oy opened the familiar door and slipped inside. He started down the rows of sleeping bodies heading for the windows at the far end. The waifs always kept to their own spaces in the sheds. The patch of floor was all they could call their own and there were arguments if an arm or a leg strayed outside that patch.