Paul Durham - The Luck Uglies

Abby looked back at Rye. “The Laws of Longchance, Riley. You know that we – women, girls – we’re not supposed to know those things. We’re not supposed to know how to read or write.”

Unless you were a Daughter of Longchance , Rye thought, in which case none of those laws applied . Her mother had told her that there were other places where girls and women could do anything they wanted. Abby had grown up in one of those places. When Rye asked why they couldn’t move there, Abby told her it was complicated. When she asked again, Abby said there were worse things than not being allowed to read or write. The third time, Abby sent her down to catch the basement wirry under The Willow’s Wares.

“Those are stupid laws,” Rye grumbled now, her ears turning pink.

“They are stupid, old-fashioned, terrible laws that need to be changed,” Abby agreed. “And, as you know, I refuse to follow them—”

“L-O-T …” Lottie began, spelling her name. Abby pointed to her as if to say, see.

“But,” Abby said, “that does not mean we should flaunt it. No good can come of letting the Constable or anyone else like him know what we do and do not know.”

“But they took our coins.”

“It’s for Assessment, Riley. The fines are pooled for the good of the village,” Abby said, without conviction.

It seemed to Rye that the ‘good of the village’ seldom spilled over on to Mud Puddle Lane. They couldn’t even get street lamps after dark like every other part of town.

“It’s just a few silver shims, Riley. It could be much worse. Remember why the Constable came to the shop in the first place.”

Rye crossed her arms. Her mother had a point.

“Now, enough of this talk in front of your sister,” Abby said.

“Fine. But if I eat another bite of this sea bug I’m going to grow claws.”

Rye frowned at the ugly, beady-eyed head staring at her from her plate.

“So be it,” Abby said. “Give it to Shady.”

Nightshade Fur Bottom O’Chanter was the thick ball of black fur curled up by the fireplace. Everyone called him Shady for short. He slept so close to the fire that Rye worried an ember would jump from the flame and set his bushy tail alight. Rolled up like that, you might easily mistake him for a bear cub, but Shady was in fact a cat, the largest and furriest anyone had ever seen. His fur was such a thick, luxurious black that he shone like velvet, and he was as warm as a wool blanket when he curled up on the girls’ laps on a winter night. Shady didn’t know his own strength, and sometimes, when he got too excited, had a tendency to play a little rough. All the O’Chanters had the scars to prove it.

“Shady go outside?” Lottie asked.

Shady opened a big yellow eye at the sound of that, peeking out from his fur as if he understood what the littlest O’Chanter had said.

“No, no, Lottie,” Abby said, wagging a finger. “House Rule Number Two. Shady must never go outside.”

“Why? Cats go play,” Lottie said.

Which was true. Most cats roamed the streets and alleys of the village, skulking through the night, hunting all sorts of vermin.

“Too dangerous,” Abby said. “No, no.”

“No, no, no,” Lottie said, wagging a finger at Shady who, foiled again, stretched and slunk off into the shadows.

“That’s right, girls. Now, what’s the rule? Say it with me,” Abby said. And they did.

House Rule Number Two: He may run and he may hide, but Shady must never go outside.

“Good,” Abby said. “Shady, get your whiskers out of there.” She pushed his fluffy face away from her glass.

They all raised their drinks for the nightly toast.

“Welcome what tomorrow brings us,” Abby said.

Abby drank cranberry wine out of her favourite goblet. Rye and Lottie drank from smaller matching ones, leaving big goat milk moustaches over their lips.

Getting Lottie O’Chanter to bed each night was no easy task. It took a lot of screaming and temper tantrums, and that was just from their mother. Finally, Lottie pulled on her nightdress and clambered into the bed she shared with Rye in their small room at the back of the house. She would never agree to sleep if she knew Rye was staying up, so Rye had to change into her own nightdress, climb into bed, and pretend she was going to sleep too.

Abby leaned over and kissed each of her girls goodnight.

“Mona, Mona,” Lottie said, thrusting forward the worn doll she slept with every night. Mona Monster was a little pink hobgoblin with red polka dots. Abby had stitched it herself and stuffed it with straw straight after Lottie was born. Mona and Lottie had been inseparable ever since.

Abby kissed Mona on her toothy pink lips. “Bedtime, Lottie.”

Lottie made Rye kiss Mona too.

“Now get some sleep,” Abby said. “Don’t let the bed bugs bite.”

Lottie chomped her teeth and clutched the thin leather choker round her neck. A silver dragonfly charm and some runestones were strung on the black leather strand.

Lottie touched her finger to an identical choker round her mother’s neck. Abby smiled.

“Yes, I have one too,” Abby said.

Rye also wore a matching choker. They were usually well hidden under the clothes the O’Chanter girls wore during the day. Even Shady had a similar collar. The chokers were the subject of yet another House Rule.

House Rule Number Four: Worn under sun and under moon, never remove the O’Chanters’ rune.

“Cherish it with your heart,” Abby had told Rye many times. “It carries the luck of the O’Chanters and our ancestors. It will keep you safe when times are darkest.”

“Time for sleep,” Abby whispered now, gently folding Lottie’s arms round Mona Monster.

Abby leaned over and whispered in Riley’s ear, “I need to tend to some things outside. You listen for Lottie.”

“OK, Mama,” Rye said, and Abby blew out the beeswax candles. The room glowed from the light of the fireplace.

It took quite a bit of tossing and turning, a little foot in Rye’s belly and a round bottom in her face before Lottie finally fell asleep. Rye slipped from under the covers and went into the main room of their cottage, where she sat by the hearth on the sweet-smelling herbs and grasses that her mother spread over the floorboards to keep the insects away.

Shady settled in her lap and Rye rubbed his big ears, covered with tufts of fur inside and out. These quiet times – sitting alone when Lottie was sleeping and Abby was off catching up with one task or another – were the hardest for her. Abby had been taking care of the girls by herself for as long as Rye could remember. Rye had no memories of her father. Abby said he was a soldier for the Earl. Ten years ago he had marched off with the army into Beyond the Shale. For a few months there’d been messages and letters, and then, one day, they stopped. Abby never said more about it, but Rye was old enough to know what that meant.

Lottie was a different story. Nobody seemed to know who her father was. Nobody except their mother that is – and she wasn’t telling.

The girls and the shop were a lot for anyone to handle alone, and Rye worried about her mother. Abby had been spending a lot of time out of the house at night. Maybe the night air helped clear her head. Rye knew Abby didn’t like her venturing outdoors after dark, but Rye thought her mother might appreciate the company. She kissed Shady and placed him on the floor.

“You smell like wine,” she said, wiping his whiskers. “Stay here.”

She put on her cloak and pulled the hood over her head. She creaked the door open and peeked outside. In a neighbourhood of drab, grey houses, their shiny purple door always stood out. It was etched with a carving of a dragonfly that changed colour as the sun hit it at different times of the day. The dragonfly was black now, the street dark except for light from the thinnest sliver of moon.