Alex Grecian - The Black Country

“Say it,” Anna said.

“I will,” Peter said.

“Then say it.”

“I’m working up to it.”

“You’re not going to say anything.”

“Am, too.”

“Then say it.”

“Peter, come away from there,” Jessica said.

Anna looked up at her as she drew near them and smiled as if to convey that she was uninvolved in any wrongdoing. Peter glanced in her direction and then leaned farther over the edge of the pit, clearly in a hurry now to carry out his sister’s challenge.

“Rawhead and Bloody Bones,” he said.

Jessica rushed forward and slipped on a patch of ice as Peter continued chanting down into the pit, his voice louder now that he was committed to the dare: “Steals naughty children from their homes!”

Jessica landed on her bottom on the hard ground and stifled a scream. She was wearing a corset, a petticoat, a dress, and a heavy woolen overcoat, so the fall didn’t hurt her in the slightest, but her face flushed with humiliation. Anna rushed over to help her teacher up, but Jessica waved her hand at Peter, who was still at the lip of the pit, still staring down into the dark.

“Peter, stop that right now!”

Peter didn’t even glance in her direction. “Takes them to his dirty den,” he said. His voice was strained now, and the words were nearly choked off by the time he mouthed dirty den .

Jessica struggled to her feet as Anna scurried about, picking up the books Jessica had dropped. Jessica let the girl tend to the books. She marched forward, more careful now about the ice underfoot, and grabbed Peter by the back of his collar. He came easily away from the pit, but Jessica almost lost her footing anyway and rocked forward as she recovered her balance. For a moment, she was staring down into the maw of the pit. Compared to the utter blackness down there, the night sky seemed blue and full of life, stars and moon and white frozen breath. But it seemed to Jessica that she could see the slightest orange glow somewhere down there in the tunnel, as if a small fire had been lit in response to Peter’s call. The thought that something might be coming through the mines toward them made Jessica shudder. She drew back from the pit and pressed a knuckle to her teeth.

She whirled Peter around and gripped him by his shoulders. The boy was so thin as to be nearly weightless, all elbows and knees. She saw now that he was crying, quietly, tears dragging down his cheeks, sluggish in the cold. She pressed his face against her coat and stroked his hair. He needed a haircut, she noticed. She wondered, not for the first time, how well the children were faring without their parents, how well the housekeeper was caring for them. If Mr and Mrs Price weren’t found soon, a decision would have to be made about where to put Peter, Anna, and Virginia. It was likely they’d be split up and raised in different households. Jessica felt her throat closing and forced herself onto a different train of thought. It would do Peter no good if she started crying herself.

“Here you are,” Anna said. She had brought the books and was holding them out to her teacher.

“Thank you, Anna,” Jessica said. She let Peter go and stepped back, taking the bundle of books from the girl. Peter turned away from her and wiped his eyes. Jessica pretended she hadn’t seen him crying, busied herself with ordering the books in their small stack. Anna brushed the back of Jessica’s long coat where she had fallen.

“Come, children,” Jessica said. “Let’s have no more of this nonsense.”

She led them away from the mouth of the pit, listening to make sure they followed. Beneath the footsteps of Peter and Anna, Jessica thought she heard something else, and she almost turned back, but forced herself to keep moving. She spoke into the night, without looking at either child, hoping her words would cover that strange soft sound before the children heard it, too.

“I know what the other students are saying,” she said. “But there is no such thing as Rawhead and Bloody Bones. It’s a silly thing that was made up to scare children. Children much smaller than the two of you, anyway, and I’m surprised you would put any stock in the notion.”

She waited for them to catch up to her and walked on between them toward the Price house on the hill. She felt the darkness of the pit behind her and increased her pace.

“I promise you, you’ll see your mother and father again. And little Oliver as well.”

She glanced down to either side and saw Anna nod. Peter was ramrod straight, marching forward with no sign that he heard her at all.

“You’ll see them soon,” Jessica said.

But she could hear the lack of conviction in her own voice. It was nothing, she thought. But however hard she tried to push it out of her mind, she knew what she had heard. Something had moved down in the tunnel, something had responded to Peter’s voice, had shuffled toward them from somewhere below and had dislodged a rock from the tunnel wall. She had heard the rock clatter and echo, however faint or far away.

She set her jaw and led the children onward through the scatter of snowflakes and ash in the night air, and she did her level best to put thoughts of childhood monsters out of her head.

Rawhead, indeed, she thought. Nonsense.

She shivered again and hurried the children away down the path.

The bowls Bennett Rose brought his guests were full of something thick and brown and hot, with thumb-size chunks of beef floating amidst cubes of onions and leeks. It was exactly what was called for on a dark snowy evening in a strange place. Sharing the tray with the two bowls was a half a loaf of good bread and a pair of beer steins filled with dark ale. Rose instructed them to leave the tray in the hall when they were finished, where it would be picked up by the scullery girl in the wee hours.

“You can always wait and tackle them woods in the morning,” Rose said. “I expect you’ll sleep hard tonight.”

“There’s no time to waste,” Day said. “We’ll eat and freshen up a bit and be right down.”

“I’ll tell the others you’ll be ready to go in a bit,” Rose said. He smiled and bowed and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Hammersmith took a bowl and sat in the room’s single straight-backed chair.

“You eat,” Day said. “I’m more thirsty than I am hungry and I want to unpack now while I have the energy. By the time we get back tonight, I suspect I’ll want nothing more than sleep.”

“I’ll wait for you.”

“No, eat.”

Hammersmith shrugged and sniffed the bowl. He levered a spoonful into his mouth and frowned.

“Where’s your suitcase?” Day said.

“In my room.”

“I never saw you go to your room.”

“I was there long enough to set my suitcase down. I’ll worry about unpacking it later.”

“Your clothing will be wrinkled.”

Hammersmith smiled, and a moment later, Day laughed. Hammersmith’s clothes were always wrinkled, whether they came from a suitcase or a closet.

“Well, try not to spill any of that on your shirt.”

“I make no promises. Pudding stains go quite well with tea stains.”

“It’s a pudding?”

“Rose said it was groaty dick,” Hammersmith said.

“Groats?” Day said. “That’s bird feed.”

Hammersmith shrugged. He tore off a hunk of his bread and used it to soak up some of the stock. He popped the soggy bread into his mouth. Broth dribbled down his chin and narrowly missed the front of his shirt. He leaned forward so that it would drip into the bowl and then wiped his chin on his sleeve, realizing too late that he’d only altered the location of the stain rather than avoiding it. He sighed and set the bowl aside. “I was watching,” he said. “Looking your way when the vicar’s wife gave you something.”