Joe Treasure - The Book of Air

‘Dead how? Of what cause?’

‘Tal found him in his bed with his throat cut and swears he saw Daniel washing in the brook at midnight.’

‘And what does Daniel say?’

‘At first he tried to speak but no words came. Now he is proud and silent, and that’s enough for them.’

‘But he was always so kind.’ I couldn’t believe that Daniel would do such a thing.

‘And such a good father he is to Annie’s little girl. And so happy he’s been these past months between the child and helping Roland.’

‘Helping him with what?’

‘I don’t know altogether. First it was the murk that must be broken apart, all the pipes inside it, and each part carried up to the turret to be peered at. Then day after day, water to be boiled on the fire.’

‘But what’s it for, all this carrying and boiling?’

‘It’s beyond me, Agnes dear. But Roland says it’s set down in the Book of Windows if you know how to read it. And so they played like boys. And now this. I should stand on the lawn to watch but I can’t bear to watch.’ Bessie’s tears stopped her talking then. We held each other until Gideon snorted among the trees and shook his mane, and we heard Walt gathering himself to cry out and Dell soothing him.

Bessie looked to see who I’d brought with me. ‘Is it a scrounger? And a scrounger’s child?’

I waved the question away. I wanted more news. I wanted to hear how things stood in the village. ‘Tell me about Megan. Does Megan have a child yet?’

‘You didn’t hear, of course. There was no wedding. Megan ran with the other girls to the wood, though the rain had come on hard during the night and the way was all mud. But there was only a tree with bindweed hanging on its trunk, and no husband. Now she keeps away from the Hall when she can. And Roland devotes himself to the Book of Windows, with Brendan gone. So much change, such troubles, and Morton murdered in his bed.’

Her sobbing was drowned by Walt, who had opened his mouth in a pure, clean cry.

Faces turned towards us from the lawn. I heard behind me Dell tramping among the trees, crooning words of comfort, and Walt’s noise muted to whimpers and gurgles. Then the Mistress spoke and everyone looked at her again, and Daniel was led out, hooded and naked to the waist.

Someone else was making noise, one of the villagers. It was Annie with an infant in her arms. I saw her stifle her own howling with a hand to her mouth. Her anguish was for her living husband not for her dead father. I was sure of that. And it came to me, not as a thought but as a feeling, a sensation on my skin, that it was true. It was all true. I remembered how Morton had taken hold of me the night I cut myself in the red room. And I knew all in a rush that Annie’s baby was Morton’s doing. And my mother’s baby too, who was born too small to live. Brendan had not lied about that. Daniel, who shrank from speaking, had once spoken up in front of the whole village to save Annie. And now there was another girl growing under Morton’s too watchful eye. I saw how Daniel might have wished Morton dead and not left it at wishing.

Walt had started up again, in spite of Dell’s efforts to distract him from his hunger. I would have fed him but had more urgent work to do. His wailing had drawn more than looks. Tal had left the gathering and was walking towards us, his face blank as a stone, and Peter trailing after him. There was movement among the villagers, a murmur of voices, and Sarah appeared from among them, hurrying across to where we stood.

People turned this way, and back again towards the Mistress whose voice rose to silence their noise, then this way again, straying towards Sarah, who had never walked away from a flogging however she shrank from it inside, and towards me who was mad and had escaped to live among the scroungers, and was mad still no doubt and stained with scrounger ways.

Now there were more coming. Ada and Miriam hooded as Reeds, their green fronds blowing about them. The voice of the Mistress grew louder and more shrill, but whether calling them back or urging them on I couldn’t tell.

As if pulled over the lawn by their long shadows they moved towards us. I told myself not to be afraid, though in truth I was faint with fear at the thought of what I was about to do. I stepped forward with the bag swinging heavily against my leg.

Sarah reached me first, moving with quick light steps. ‘Is she with you?’ she said, ‘is it my child?’ hardly stopping to hear my answer before hurrying on under the trees.

I knelt, sinking back on my heels. I heard the gasp of joy from Dell and the comforting murmur of Sarah’s voice and Walt grumbling between them. The bag lay open on the ground. A book came into my hand and I tossed it in Tal’s path. Another book spun towards the women, landing softly on the grass. A third book for Peter. A fourth and fifth for the women. The books perched on the lawn fluttering, holding themselves to the wind like curlews.

More faces turned from the crowd by the Hall, straining to read the meaning of what I did.

Tal had stumbled in his progress and now stooped to see what lay in front of him. Peter came up beside him, scratching his beard. Miriam and Ada turned this way and that to gather the books that fell flapping at their feet.

I heard Bessie’s voice behind me. ‘What are they, Agnes?’

A whisper grew among the villagers. Above our heads the branches ducked and strained. The old slates rattled on the roof of the Hall. The people moved back and forth across the lawn while the sky darkened and the wind howled down from the moor to riot in the wood.

Then there was Roland. I stood with my empty bag billowing at my side and waited for him to come towards me. I raised my voice to be heard above the storm.

‘So you’re the Reader now.’

‘What have you done, Agnes?’

‘You thought there were only four books. I’ve brought more to show you.’

‘I never thought there were only four.’

‘We all did, Roland. You never said different.’

‘What does it mean anyway?’

‘It means we think fresh about everything. If there are a thousand books.’

‘A thousand?’

‘Why not? Then there are a thousand ways to think.’

‘And this is what the scroungers have taught you?’

‘The books taught me this. And my own mind.’

‘And what good will it do?’ He looked about at the villagers, who passed books and held them open for the air to snatch at, muttering in their agitation. ‘They’re frightened already, Agnes. This is a hard time for us. You should have waited.’

‘For your permission?’

He laughed but I could see it was just to hide his own fear. ‘There’s still only one Book of Windows.’

‘Which will teach you nothing. Not to capture steam nor how to ride without a horse.’

‘You don’t know that.’

‘I know it’s just a trick of yours to say otherwise, to have your own way. For years Brendan studied the Book of Windows and he found so little sense in it, it made him mad.’ I stopped then, because I saw all at once that Brendan had led a sad and worthless life.

‘You haven’t asked about Brendan.’ Roland looked as if he thought this question would make me stumble.

‘Should I have asked?’

‘He’s not here. I thought you might have wondered what became of him. Unless you already know.’

‘I haven’t asked about Megan either. Weren’t you going to marry?’

‘You can’t lie to me, Agnes. We grew up together.’

‘You grew up at the Hall. I only lit your fires and washed your sheets.’

He smiled at that, because it was my old way of talking, I suppose. ‘There are others to do that now,’ he said. ‘But I’m not as idle as I was. Come to my room and see how I work.’