Oy Yew (The Waifs of Duldred Trilogy Book 1) Read online

  Oy’s bell rang.

  ‘Chintz Chamber,’ said Gritty. ‘Mistress wants you again. Seems like she can’t get dressed without you.’

  Gwendalyn stood in the midst of her wardrobes her hands spread in confusion. ‘I need your clever eye again, Oy. I have two roles to play today, mistress and retiring inspector. What should I wear? The Verbeer? The Sharliay? Tell me.’

  ‘What mood, ma’am?’

  ‘Sober, dignified.’

  Oy riffled through the racks, pulling out a dress here and there. ‘This one,’ he said.

  ‘The lilac Loshel. You’re right, it’s perfect. Quiet authority; I wouldn’t want to seem proud or flashy in front of my old colleagues. Now I need a wig and shoes.’

  ‘This goes nice.’ Oy picked out a glossy knot and helped fit it. ‘Sleek as a damp duck,’ he said. Gwendalyn’s eyes twinkled. ‘No disrespect, ma’am; just a saying I heard in a story. Shall I tuck these wisps in?’

  ‘Yes, careful with those. It’s not much but it’s only appeared since my marriage.’

  ‘Contentment,’ said Oy. ‘It makes things grow.’

  ‘I keep my fuzzy old wig, you know, in case I wake up and find it was all a dream.’

  ‘Ma’am, can I ask you a question?’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘About the measuring today: has it ever happened that someone was to go over and didn’t want to leave?’

  ‘No – at least not in my time. Why do you ask?’

  ‘Well, Alas is like to go over and he ain’t keen to leave just now.’ Oy misted the wig with scent. ‘So I thought maybe you could fix it. I mean, if he’s near the line and if Mrs Whiskers should need your help to check, being as she’s new to this and all.’

  ‘I hope you’re not suggesting… Ah, you’re still worried about the “accidents”. There’s no need. I solved the problem.’

  ‘You did?’

  ‘Yes, I spoke to him, he sees how wrong he was and he’s sorry.’

  ‘He is?’

  ‘Yes, you needn’t worry about Raymun any more. Oops, I shouldn’t have said that. Our secret, yes? I considered Mrs Midden first of all; she was out on the night you became trapped in the sewer and seems to bear you some grudge, otherwise a poor fit. Inch hates all the waifs but she lacked opportunities. The answer came to me as I placed the final piece in the nigma – only one piece fit the puzzle on every side and that piece was Raymun. Consider the circumstances. Stanly: no witnesses, his cries were heard by Raymun; first on the scene was Raymun. Reta: no witnesses. Traces of grease on the floor under the ladder. The ladder wheels were oiled by Raymun. First there: Raymun. Owin: I have traced his schedule for that week. Rook’s Parlour chimney was due to be cleaned with brushes; the brush symbol was crossed out and a stick man was drawn in its place. The schedules are handed out by Raymun. Oy was last seen by Raymun. Oy reports that the storm drain was locked when he came to leave. The keys are held by Raymun. Only one piece fit the puzzle on all sides and the name of that piece is Raymun, but you needn’t fear him now. I am watching.’

  ‘Have you told Master? Sorry, ma’am, not my business to ask.’

  ‘That’s alright. Your master refuses to see it. He depends on Raymun, though he’d never admit it. It’s like having a pet you can tell your innermost thoughts to; they may not understand, but they listen and that helps.’ She patted Oy’s head. ‘Look at the time. I mustn’t be late for my first measuring as mistress. How do I look?’

  ‘Glowing, ma’am.’

  ‘Who’d have thought life could be such a succession of glows?’ Gwendalyn beamed.

  Mistress Jeopardine floated away down the stairs, across the atria with its statues of Materius, Consuma, Mariata and Mammus: the four forces in their self-feeding circle. Create, consume, make and love wealth. Oy ducked into the hatch and along the runs. He reached the Boot Room just ahead of Mistress Jeopardine who was twenty ticks late.

  ‘Forgive me, I was a little slow in dressing,’ said Gwendalyn.

  ‘Will I start now?’ Mrs Whiskers asked the board who stood sternly to one side, clipboards ready.

  Mrs Whiskers fumbled with the marker, dropped it on heads, misread names, looked the wrong way through the glass, forgot to praise Raymun and scratched out mistakes in the record book.

  ‘Alas Ringworm,’ Mrs Whiskers read, her voice shaking with strain.

  Alas stepped up, eased himself under the marker and softened his knees. The eyes of the board were all instantly trained on Alas’s knees. Mrs Whiskers followed their gaze.

  ‘Straight if you please,’ said Mrs Whiskers sharply.

  Mrs Whiskers beckoned Miss Watts, the new assistant, for a second opinion. Alas tried a slight tilt in his neck.

  Mrs Whiskers eyed him from every side then tipped his chin with one finger. ‘Over,’ she said.

  ‘Confirmed,’ said Miss Watts.

  Oy’s eyes pleaded with Gwendalyn. She gave an involuntary shrug as though someone was trying to wake her against her will. Oy closed his eyes and clenched his hands.

  ‘Are you quite sure?’ Gwendalyn really hadn’t meant to say it out loud. ‘Forgive me but I do have a very experienced eye and from here it looks as though he might be one hair short.’

  ‘We should trust our new inspectors,’ said Jeopardine. He peered at the line himself. ‘Yes, Chimneys is definitely over.’

  The three board members came forward, looked at the line in silence and made notes. Gwendalyn deferred to her husband. She did not look at Oy again. Mrs Whiskers rustled through her papers trying to find the leaver’s statement. Her face grew redder as she sifted the papers for a fourth time.

  ‘If I might,’ Gwendalyn interrupted. ‘I have it by heart.’

  Mrs Whiskers stood with burning cheeks while Gwendalyn recited the familiar words: ‘Alas Ringworm, your term in waif service is now over. On Affland’s soils you have grown, and in payment you have laboured for Affland. All debts from either side are now settled. You came from the sea and you will,’ she paused and cast a reassuring look towards Oy, ‘be returned to the sea. You are expected to reside here and continue with your duties until the date of the next sailing. Do you understand?’

  Alas looked around the room without answering.

  Gwendalyn prodded him gently. ‘You must respond.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I understand well.’

  ‘Well, let me be the first to wish you a safe sailing,’ said Gwendalyn.

  ‘Good growing, Alas,’ said Lucinda bleakly.

  Alas didn’t hear the hollow well-wishing or feel the slaps on his back. His eyes were drawn to the Master’s which signalled to him that he wasn’t going anywhere. The board retired to make their decision.

  Dr Sandy stepped forward to begin his own inspection. Jeopardine watched impatiently.

  ‘Raymun,’ Alas whispered. ‘How long till the next sailing?’

  ‘You’re in luck. There’s a cargo ship due out in two days.’

  Lucinda and Alas exchanged a look that was too painful to hold.

  The Doctor’s examinations seemed to take much longer than usual. When he turned around he was smiling.

  ‘Well?’ said Jeopardine.

  ‘You’ll be pleased to know that their health is generally much improved. The extra milk seems to be working.’

  ‘Really?’ Jeopardine was bemused. ‘Good, good. We’ll carry on as usual then.’

  Dr Sandy began replacing his instruments in his bag. ‘No, it’s not the waifs who are my primary concern this time. It’s you.’ He looked intently at Jeopardine.

  ‘Doctor, what can you mean?’ said Gwendalyn, alarmed.

  ‘Your husband has not fully recovered from run a’bed. He has secondary complications which can be very serious.’ Gwendalyn blenched. ‘I am strongly recommending Dr Mack B Rack’s cure. I can secure a place for you if you can be ready to leave tomorrow.’

  ‘Out of the question,’ said Jeopardine.

  ‘We will be ready,’ said Gwendalyn.

&nbs
p; ‘But Gwendalyn, the election. Only weeks remain.’

  She led him firmly aside. ‘I lost my first love, I will not lose my second and greatest.’ Their sharp muttering continued as she brought him back. ‘What does it involve, Doctor?’ she asked.

  ‘Ten days of treatment at a forest retreat in the Glumaws. Massage with giant wood snail slime, injections into the joints with mordant lily pollen, and various bitter gargles.’

  ‘Feafol’s?’ ventured Jeopardine.

  ‘Mmm, possibly.’

  ‘I won’t do it.’

  ‘If you don’t go now you may have to wait months for another chance, during which time the joints could deteriorate rapidly. In the worse cases deformation of the limbs can result, as I know only too well.’

  Jeopardine’s gaze drifted down to Dr Sandy’s bandy legs. He held his hands up to his wife. ‘Very well, I submit.’ He saw the flash of relief on Alas’s face. ‘We’ll suspend the leaving until our return. Ten days is a short time after all and there is much to look forward to.’ Jeopardine pursed his lips as Dr Sandy swaggered off swinging his stethoscope.

  Molly revealed later that it was she who had put the idea into the Doctor’s head. She knew that it would give the waifs their best chance of escape. Alas was not one to show his feelings but he could not thank Molly enough. ‘And same goes for the Doctor,’ said Alas, ‘you got to tell him how much we appreciate it.’

  ‘Doctor knows,’ said Molly, ‘as I do. Now let’s think.’ She walked around the kitchen pulling doors shut and closing windows. They sat together around the table and spoke in low voices. ‘Master might be out of the way but it ain’t like you can walk straight out,’ Molly warned. ‘Upservants won’t do a stroke with the house empty; they’ll be lazing around in the back rooms. Most of ’em ain’t feeling too good since I been switching the water. They’re all grey and wheezing.’

  ‘And don’t they deserve it,’ said Alas with a grin. ‘I heard them blaming it on a bad batch of baccy.’

  ‘Sly,’ Molly pondered. ‘I’ll give him a good feed and send him off for a snooze. Raymun – you ain’t taking him?’

  Alas shook his head. ‘He wouldn’t leave here. He b’longs.’

  ‘My aunt, Raymun and Inch are the ones to watch then. And we still ain’t got a horse and cart.’

  Molly sent word to her cousin. Mair was a pig-rearer and pig enthusiast. Litters ran freely about her hovel. When the reply came Molly skipped several pages of pig news. Mair finished by saying the cartwright had been (it had cost her a sweet piglet, a burly blue) but the horse was a problem. Horses, for under four piglets, were rare as porket pinks.

  Molly said not to panic, she would find a horse herself, but they would have to delay their escape until Jebelday.

  ‘But Master’s due back on Noddinday,’ said Lucinda.

  ‘A day is all we need,’ said Alas.

  ‘It’s going to be a dreadful long week,’ said Gertie.

  ‘Funny how the same time can be different time,’ said Gritty, ‘I mean rest time and work time can be the same time but really they’re…’

  ‘Not the same at all,’ said Gertie.

  Oy became very still while he thought about this. Then he got up and tugged at Alas’s arm. Alas followed him into the runs and from there to the Ebony Room.

  ‘You said you found a lever,’ said Oy, as they stood in front of the fireplace.

  ‘Stick your finger in there.’ Alas pointed beneath the mantle to a bracket shaped like a bullibeast. Oy poked his finger through the hole made by the beast’s curling trunk. ‘Feel it?’

  Oy nodded.

  ‘Well it won’t budge. I’m sure that’s the way to get into the wall, but I’ve tried every way. I’ve wiggled, I’ve oiled. I’ve looked everywhere for another lever or catch or hole or button, but there’s nothing.’

  ‘The clock,’ said Oy.

  ‘I looked it over. Changed the time to quarter before three like Henret said,’ Alas opened the case and moved the hands round the black onyx face.

  ‘Henret was way over there looking through a scratchy eyehole,’ said Oy, walking backwards away from the clock, ‘there’s only jade chips for numbers and quarter before three looks a lot like…’

  ‘Quarter after nine!’ Alas was already spinning the clock hands. As the gold hour hand moved over the nine, Alas heard a tiny click. ‘Pull the lever now,’ he said.

  ‘It’s moving,’ said Oy.

  ‘Yes!’ Alas stepped to one side of the fireplace, hooked his fingers around the edges of the panelling and slid it open. ‘Easy when you know,’ he said with a grin. In the shallow niche were two shelves. On the top shelf were three objects: a book, some scrolled papers and a chemist’s bottle filled with a deep blue liquid. Underneath were the wedding papers. The book was the current waif’s ledger; they already knew its secrets. Alas held the bottle to the light; it told them nothing. The scroll was tied with black ribbon, the knot encased with red sealing wax. He pulled at the ribbon ends. The wax shell crumbled and fell to the floor.

  ‘This writing’s all loops and dashes,’ said Alas. ‘I can’t make sense of it. You have a go.’

  33 They went to the Cupboard

  Gertie and Oy deciphered the scroll together that night. It didn’t make entire sense but they could tell it was important, not just for themselves but for all the waifs that would follow them. If they did escape there would soon be twelve more in their places, suffering and fearing just the same things. It was an unhappy thought.

  It was decided that they would replace the scroll just as it was. Molly, Sly and Dr Sandy would be asked to witness their findings, but they would not abandon their escape plans, not yet.

  Next day they explained as much as they could to Molly who agreed that the Doctor should be summoned and Sly also. They would look at the scroll together and then decide what to do.

  Molly bent to unlock the door of the Ebony Room. Sly was looking at Molly’s hips and then at the Doctor just to check that he was not. Alas and Oy waited behind them. Dr Sandy signalled to Alas who stepped forward and moved the hands of the clock to horizontal. He felt beneath the bullibeast for the lever, silently stepped to the left of the chimney breast and slid back the panel. Sly, Molly and the Doctor leaned over to get a better view.

  ‘There’s a cupboard full of no good,’ said Molly cook.

  ‘Go on, Doctor,’ said Sly.

  Dr Sandy reached for the ledger and flicked through the pages. ‘Each name is followed by a letter and these letters, you say, match the fates of the waifs?’

  ‘Yes sir,’ answered Alas. ‘L is good – we think those waifs got away, it might stand for leaver or liberty; and the E’s are waifs what disappeared in the night. E could stand for exile to the mountains. As far as we know that’s where Kurt was sent, but mountains is as good as murder if you’re sent up there with no food or drink, no shelter and no warmth. There’s a M next to every waif what’s had an accident. We worked out it could stand for mort.’

  Dr Sandy shook his head as he looked for certain names. ‘Hmm. It seems you could be right.’

  ‘How did you get to be reading?’ said Sly.

  ‘Molly cook helped Gert, and Gertie showed the rest of us. We had a book of stories, the Doctor’s dictionary and some old news-sheets.’

  Sly nudged Molly and whispered indignantly in her ear.

  ‘If you spent less time sleeping in the grain store you might know more,’ she muttered.

  ‘I’m impressed,’ Dr Sandy said, ‘I’ve often noted flashes of potential in you Porians. Given half a chance I think you might eclipse the Afflish altogether.’

  ‘Pardon me, Doctor. You can’t go saying things like that,’ said Sly, scandalised.

  ‘Here’s the real crux,’ said Alas, handing the scroll to Dr Sandy.

  ‘Would you like to read it first, Sly?’ said the Doctor. ‘From what I hear it concerns you most.’

  ‘No, no Doctor. You go ahead. I’m not much of a read… It’s not that I c
an’t – my eyes, you know, not good close up.’

  Dr Sandy cleared his throat and read:

  ‘My boy (and those of my blood who come after), greetings,

  It is because of my foresight and cleverness that we hold our high position in the world. I was the first to see the value of waif labour and I secured the rights to it for this family in perpetuity. My son, as you know, you can only make money out of the waifs if you feed them little and keep them small.

  My success in business has always been due to my ability to anticipate the future and for the sake of my heirs I cast my divining eye beyond my own lifetime. Already I see signs of a change which could threaten the foundations of our wealth. People are becoming sentimental over youth; distracted by soft skin, round limbs, big eyes. I even see a day when they start to look at the waifs and say: they are but children after all; we should work them lightly, feed them better. And that day will be our downfall because we are pledged under the law to feed and care for these young animals as the state requires. Our rights will become a burden, our wealth will drain away in welfare.

  So I have made provision in the form of a confession:

  Those rights do not belong to us lawfully. When the sealed bids were made for the waif labour, I bribed an official to reveal my rival’s bid. I made my own bid a single mariat higher. There, I confess, I cheated. There is a document supporting my confession, signed by the corrupt official, a Mr Lyme Rottley, in the vaults of Makins bank in Crust. The legal holder of the waif rights is Spencer Rutheday and all his descendants.

  Let me state it clearly then: if the waif rights should ever become a burden to you (or your descendants), you can unload them onto Spencer Rutheday (or his descendants).

  Under our laws you cannot be penalised for my misdeeds so your wealth is safe. Only if it could be proved that you knew about this can the rest of your wealth and property be confiscated. Should you need to, you must therefore arrange for this information to be leaked (a few mariats in the right places will easily accomplish this). You must then behave as though you are astonished and ashamed of your father/grandfather/ancestor.