It’s probably best you did go, because I’m sure Father would have thrown you out. But the next day, someone came in and gave my father a black eye. He thinks that you put someone up to it, somehow. Oh, I didn’t know what had happened to you, Samuel. I’m so glad to see you!’
He told her all about his new job and the strange people and the beautiful garden. After a time, he realised he had been away far too long and so he kissed her on the cheek and rushed off to find the merchant described on his note, promising to visit when he could. It was by no means enough time with Jessicah, but if he was tardy during his first time out from the Burning Oak, they would be far less likely to let him out again soon, so he hurried on with his errand as quickly as he could.
As he hastened back with the large jar of odorous spice firmly under one arm, Samuel was surprised to find Mr Joshua waiting for him on the side of Darmour Street. There was a boy with him that Samuel had played kick- ball with many times. His name was Fennian and he was a year or two younger than Samuel-a strangely quiet boy.
‘Hello, Samuel,’ Mr Joshua greeted him warmly. ‘I believe you know Fennian. He’s doing a bit of work for me now.’
‘Good morning, Mr Joshua,’ Samuel returned. ‘Hi, Fennian.’ The other boy raised his hand in greeting without any hint of interest.
‘How are your new employers treating you?’ Mr Joshua asked.
‘Wonderfully. Of course, there’s lots of work, but they treat me very well.’
‘Good…good,’ Mr Joshua mused. ‘So…can you tell me anything of interest?’
‘Only a few names, I’m sorry, Mr Joshua. I’m not allowed to talk to the men there and I’m not allowed inside the inn, either.’
‘Well, names will do for now, but you’ll have to give me something else eventually. Do you have a list?’
‘In my head,’ Samuel said slyly and Mr Joshua laughed. ‘Let’s see. Mr Kelvin is the boss. He’s always there. And so is Kans, his servant and Cook; she’s the cook. The others are never there for very long at all. Mr Reese, Mr Castle and Mr Finnius Ickle all left together last week. Mr Wren came and left on the very same day, in an awful hurry, and now we have Mr Giles, Mr Geoffries and Mr Copperpot, a man called Malcolm Sloan and some other man whose name I don’t know yet; all staying for at least a week.’
Mr Joshua was very pleased. ‘Just a few names, indeed! You’re a very bright lad, Samuel. That Mr Wren fellow interests me greatly and a few other names help, as well. Keep trying to get more information and I’ll contact you soon. Find somewhere safe for this,’ and he gave Samuel three crowns. ‘You can’t come and see me, so you may need a little money.’
With that, he turned and left, with Fennian dragging his feet behind. Samuel had to run as hard as he could to get back in good time but, when he did, Cook was quite surprised to see him so soon. Apparently, the last stablehand was always much slower and took all day to run even the simplest errand. Cook seemed very pleased. Samuel smiled, making a mental note to take his time in future.
Samuel was kneeling in a flowerbed, pulling up weeds by the roots according to the precise instructions from Kans. A small pile of plucked weeds was forming beside him and he was working quite carefully, yet somehow he had become dirty from head to toe. He was having a busy day so far, with Kans giving him many a chore in the gardens, stating that he had much to do inside, himself. Samuel was always itching with curiosity to see inside the inn. Except for that first day, Samuel had set not a single toe on the finely polished floorboards inside, save for helping Cook in her kitchen.
Samuel wondered who the people of the Burning Oak really were. The brightness around them marked them apart from other people, even more so than their drab clothing habit. It seemed to be a sign of something different, something special and it made him more and more curious all the time. He planned to ask some questions and try to learn something of the truth, but it would not be easy getting answers out of any of these elusive guests.
Footsteps beside him suddenly caught his attention and he looked up to discern the figure-its face a black silhouette against the bright glare of the sun.
‘Hello, Samuel,’ said the man. It was Mr Kelvin. He bobbed down to squat beside Samuel. ‘You’re getting very dirty, indeed, my son.’ Samuel shrugged at this and wiped his running nose with his arm. ‘I was walking in the garden this morning when I noticed some of your chalk-marks by the wall over there and I realised I’ve been irresponsible in ignoring your education. The last lad here was much older than you, and admittedly quite a dense boy, but I think you have potential that should not be wasted. You do fine work in the stables. I think you should be rewarded beyond mere board, lodgings and your wage. An education is far more valuable than any of these things.’
Samuel realised his sums and pictures, drawn time after time on the same spot, had been making a mess. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Kelvin,’ he said hastily. ‘I’ll wash it off at once.’
He leapt up, but Mr Kelvin raised a solemn hand.
‘No, my boy,’ he reassured. ‘I don’t mind that, but I think I’ll get you some paper and a writing set, so that you don’t have to sprawl yourself out in the garden and I shall begin teaching you to read, write and calculate some sums, myself. I have some free time on occasion. Would you like that?’
Samuel was not sure. His father had always been in favour of education and Samuel did enjoy it, but he had spoken little to Mr Kelvin and was not sure if he would enjoy such tutoring. Most grown-ups, after all, had little patience for youth. Then again, he supposed, he could always find a way to stop once he started. He nodded to Mr Kelvin.
A smile beamed across Mr Kelvin’s sober brow. ‘Very good. After you finish here, go wash yourself, then fetch some dinner from Cook and I’ll come and see you. It’s a shame you cannot come to my study,’ he said, half to himself, ‘but we do what we can, don’t we? Goodbye, Samuel.’
With that, Mr Kelvin stood up and turned away, strolling in his usual unhurried manner back towards the inn, his black cloak hem just floating above the path.
Samuel was polishing a saddle by lamplight at the back of the stables, when Mr Kelvin appeared at the doorway, carrying an armful of rolled papers.
‘Ah, Samuel,’ he called, smiling and observing the walls around him. ‘What a wonderful job you’ve made of this old stable. Everything in its place! Come, let us begin.’
Samuel carefully latched the lid back onto the jar of varnish and followed Mr Kelvin into his room. Mr Kelvin was looking the place over.
‘This will never do,’ he remarked, shaking his head. ‘I’ll arrange tomorrow for a study desk. We can’t have you writing on your lap.’
Mr Kelvin sat down upon Samuel’s bed and laid out the papers. He drew out a thin book, a small black jar and a feather that had been tucked inside his shirt and laid them out carefully. Samuel sat next to him.
‘This,’ Mr Kelvin began, pointing to the jar, ‘is an inkwell. The ink is very strong, so beware not to spill it or there will be a stubborn stain, indeed.’ Mr Kelvin carefully unscrewed the tiny cap from the jar and dipped the pointed end of the feather in it. ‘You dip the quill, like so, with just enough ink on the nib and then you are ready to write. It’s much better than dusty old chalk.’
He unrolled a piece of paper beside them on the bed and, holding it with one hand, drew a single short line; the number one, Samuel thought.
‘This will never do,’ Mr Kelvin muttered to himself, perturbed by the difficulties of writing upon a mattress. ‘Tomorrow night I will show you properly, but tonight, I guess this will have to do. Now, once you have written what you will, or the ink is exhausted, you blot the parchment thus, or it will run.’ He demonstrated by patting the ink with a small piece of blotting paper.
Samuel had seen all this before in Mr Joshua’s office, but he was intrigued with the precision and care that Mr Kelvin took. Samuel had only written with chalk or a charcoal marker before. He twitched with excitement.
‘Now, Samuel. What do we have here?’
Samuel examined the writing paper. ‘A number one?’
Mr Kelvin smiled and nodded. ‘Very good, Samuel. Number one. It is the smallest number that can be, for before that, there is no single thing. It is the beginning number. All things must begin somewhere, and this is our beginning. Before number one-there is nothing.’
Samuel was mystified by his comments, but then remembered something Jessicah had told him. ‘But what
