Peter Dickinson - Earth and Air

“Yes, Father, of course,” said Euphanie, though he had spoken to Yanni.

They waited for him to go, but he stood gazing down at Yanni. Unable to meet his gaze Yanni looked away and found himself watching the fingers of the priest’s right hand as they slowly turned the broad silver ring on the middle finger of his left. He was trapped, hypnotised, by the steady, repetitive movement. Something was going to happen. Something was . . .

“What troubles you, my son?” said the soft voice. “Your father’s death?”

“Er, no . . . No . . . I don’t . . . don’t remember him at all . . . It’s all right . . .”

“But there is something?”

Something? Yes, something . . . Yanni must tell him . . . something . . .

“It was my fault, Father,” said Euphanie. “I made him go down to the tavern to be with the men there. I thought somehow he must learn to be among men, not having a father to help him, you see. They didn’t want him there. At first they cut him out but then one night they deliberately got him drunk and then threw him out—because he couldn’t stand his round, they said, though he’d told him he couldn’t. Now he hasn’t got any self-confidence at all.”

Yanni had almost fainted with relief as she’d begun to speak. In another few seconds he would have told Papa Archangelos about Scops. But now it was all right. The pressure was gone. Papa Archangelos stood looking down at him, nodding. The reflected lamp light put an orange glint into the dark eyes.

“Yes,” he purred. “It can be hard for a young man without a father, and no friends of his own age. But your sister is right, Yanni. You must learn to deal with men. Go to the tavern again. Kosta, I expect, was it, and Thanassi and their cronies? These are not bad men, Yanni, just thoughtless. I will speak to them. It will be all right. And I will see you in church, no doubt. Till then, my friends.”

“You’ve got to go now,” said Euphanie, “or he’ll think there was something else after all. I’m sorry. It was the best I could think of, before you blurted out about Scops. That’s what he wanted.”

“Kosta isn’t a good man,” said Yanni. “Nor’s Thanassi. I’ve heard them talking about what they did to Nana. I don’t think some of the others liked it either, but they didn’t want to say so. All right, I’ll go.”

“Sorry about last time, kid,” said Kosta, squeezing him by the elbow in greeting. “It was just a bit of fun, right? And everyone’s got to get blind drunk once in his life, find out what it’s like. After that, the trick is to know what you can hold and stop there.”

“I still can’t stand my round,” said Yanni.

“Never mind that for now,” said Thanassi. “When we’re old dodderers and you’re earning good money, then it’ll be your turn.”

And the others were as friendly. They made a place for him at their table where he could watch the backgammon, two games being played simultaneously with the rest of the men watching and placing small bets. Kyril, in his ear, explained the intricate skills of the simple-seeming game. He’d brought enough money for a couple of mugs of wine and placed some of it as a bet on Dmitri and doubled his stake when he won. Everyone laughed.

“That rate you’ll be standing your round after all,” said someone.

“I’ll start now,” said Yanni and poured his winnings back into their communal jug. They laughed, with him, not at him, though he had a slight feeling that Stavros had deliberately allowed Dmitri to win. And when he rose to go they made no effort to stop him, but waved cheery hands and told him to come back soon.

“You’re all right, kid,” said Kosta—the same Kosta who had chortled about how he had smashed Nana Procephalos’s nose in with a well-aimed rock. How could they be one person? How could even the magical voice of Papa Archangelos have persuaded the old Kosta to change into the new one? He was still thinking about this as he passed the last house along the harbour and turned up the steep track between the olive groves.

With the faintest of whispers Scops settled onto his shoulder and nibbled gently at his ear. He almost laughed aloud in astonishment. She was still a young bird, and he’d never seen her so far from the house before. He must have been twenty paces further on before he realised that the night had grown suddenly less dark. It wasn’t that the moon had come out—it was already bright in a clear sky, half full and setting toward the west—but the darkness itself had somehow paled, so that he could see details of the track some distance ahead, and what had been shadowy blank shapes, merely darker than the darkness of night, became solid and fully visible. It was very strange. He hadn’t had anything like this happen to him before . . .

Yes he had! That horrible night in the spring, when the men had made him drunk and he’d thrown up on the Bloodstone—that had been pitch dark until he’d started down through the olives with the baby owl cupped between his hands and her head poking out—then it had become almost as light as this, though there had been no moon. Only everything had still seemed much fuzzier than now . . . Yes, of course, because Scops had only had baby eyes and could tell light from dark but couldn’t yet see things properly . . . And when it had started to rain and he’d tucked her under his smock, then it had gone dark again, because he’d been seeing things through her eyes and she couldn’t see anything in there. He must be doing the same now.

He experimented, and found that he had to be looking in the same direction as Scops for the effect to work. If he turned his head suddenly to his right all he saw was dark until Scops turned her head that way too. The area to his left that was hidden from Scops by his head remained in a triangle of darkness that moved beside him up the track as he climbed.

He didn’t have much time to wonder at the strangeness of this. He was just starting on the steepest part of the track when Scops nibbled , or rather pecked, at his ear. Not an owl kiss but a definite peck. The track ahead went dark. Startled, he turned his head and could just make out that Scops had swivelled hers right round and was watching back the way they had come. He slowed his pace and looked back over his shoulder until he could see by owl light what she was seeing.

A man, about fifty paces behind, coming up the track.

Well, why not? Several other families used the lower reaches of this track, and it was not that late. He passed one turning, and then another. The man took neither of them. Well, there was a way to find out. In the shadow of a tree he stopped for a piss he didn’t need and looked back, turning his head only far enough to be able to see out of the corner of his eyes, in case the pallor of his face betrayed that that was what he was doing. The man came on another dozen paces, stepping sideways out of one patch of moon shadow into another on the far side of the track. His footfall was noiseless, despite the stony ground. Yanni didn’t need the brief interval of moonlight to tell who the burly, pot-bellied figure was.

Stavros. And he had been wearing rope-soled shoes in the tavern. Most of the men wore boots. He was a fisherman, and lived in a shack close to the harbour. There wasn’t even a woman up this way he might be visiting. Without owl sight, could he have seen Scops at that distance, perched on Yanni’s shoulder? Yanni didn’t think so, not even in moonlight. Deliberately he rattled a few pebbles as he moved on. Stavros continued to follow.

For some reason Yanni wasn’t really scared. Tense and wary, but with a belief in himself that he wouldn’t have had a few months ago. It might only have been the wine, he realised, but in his heart he believed it was something to do with Scops, with the fact that through her he could see in the dark, and perhaps there were other powers he didn’t know about yet. And in a way it was a relief to have his doubts about the men in the tavern confirmed, to know that their sudden amazing friendliness wasn’t a change of heart, and to guess now that what Papa Archangelos had said to them had had little to do with being nice to fatherless young men. Both were part of some plan. With the help of Scops he would find out what it was, and perhaps outwit them all.