Clayborne and I are sorry.”
I waited for the
“It seems I am a bad influence on you,” said Eldric. “This comes as quite a surprise, as I have found you wonderfully impervious to influence.”
They were to forbid me to see Eldric, weren’t they? I needed a safe place to put my gaze. It was easiest to look at the bits of toothpick-sword.
“It’s really more that you’re a bad influence on Eldric.” Mr. Clayborne smiled to show he wasn’t serious. “Eldric’s new tutor, Mr. Thorpe, is to arrive next week. You and Eldric were to have lessons together, as you know —”
“I’m not to share Eldric’s tutor?”
“I told them you help me learn, but they didn’t listen,” said Eldric.
“I miss Fitz,” I said. My brilliant Fitz. “When shall I ever have lessons?”
“Fitz was hardly suited to be a tutor,” said Father.
“Just because of the arsenic?” I said. “It never interfered with our lessons.”
“One doesn’t leave one’s daughter alone with such a man,” said Father.
“Why ever not?”
But of course he wouldn’t tell me. Which means, of course, he couldn’t think of a single reason why.
The early light came in at the window and glanced off the stubble on Father’s jaw. Father hadn’t ironed his voice, and he hadn’t shaved, either. But Father always shaved. Where was the father who left me alone?
“It’s not that you’re a bad influence on Eldric,” said Mr. Clayborne. “Of course not. But I’ve come to see that he’s steadier, more level-headed, with young women who are rather older than you.”
Not Leanne!
Not that rather older young lady!
Yes, Leanne. “She is a clever young lady,” said Mr. Clayborne, “and has been wanting to continue her studies, but her circumstances have been rather straitened of late.”
Leanne to study with Eldric? To sit across from him, every day? She’d take pains, I supposed, to resemble a painting by this mysterious Klimt—all in gold, flowers in her hair, in a state of tasteful undress.
The rather older young lady, who was very old, indeed. Or so she’d told Rose, oh how terrifically funny, ha- ha, top marks! I let myself imagine she was telling the truth. If she were very old indeed, she’d have to be an Old One, and Eldric would discover her true nature and cast her off in her petticoat . . . No, best keep her in her clothes. I was an Old One, but I’d never be very old indeed. Unfair that we witches live only a mortal lifespan, that we’re deprived of the infinity of experience that makes the Boggy Mun so tricky.
The Boggy Mun and his tricks . . . How had I not seen it before? I had a perfectly trick-free bargain to offer the Boggy Mun. A bargain he’d be glad to accept: He’d cure Rose and get what he wanted.
Up you get then, Briony. Put an end to this affecting scene. Paste on your angelic face, tell one of your pretty lies. It’s not Father’s business where you’re going. It’s just between you and the Boggy Mun.
19
Make Love Story!
The Quicks sputtered, the sponge squished beneath my feet. I was a bit squishy myself. I’d had no time to bathe: I wanted to catch the Boggy Mun during his morning hours. I had to reach the bog-hole before the mist burnt off.
Eldric and Leanne? Leanne and Eldric! Leanne, sitting in my seat, laughing with Eldric.
Shut up, Briony!
Eldric and Leanne, sharing an inkwell. Eldric turning his pen into a boat, sailing it over his blotter—
Shut up, Briony!
The Quicks breathed slowly, their poisoned breath smelling of sulfur and infection and overripe flesh. They smacked and swallowed, smacked and swallowed.
Soon the Boggy Mun would open up shop. I wore no cloak and had no pockets. I carried my knife and salt in a basket. Little Red Riding Hood, skipping off into the woods. And whom will she meet?
Why, her own self, of course: the wolf. My hand flew to the gray-pearl wolfgirl hanging about my neck. If I didn’t know I couldn’t love, I might have thought I loved her.
I sprinkled the salt. I sliced through my mushroom skin. I drizzled my blood onto the salt.
The Boggy Mun came just on time.
He came in the mist, in the midst of his long beard. He came in a tangle of mist and midst. The ancient face peered from the tangle, the crepe-paper skin, the crumpled eyelids.
“I came before,” I said.
“Aye.”
“You did not grant my request.”
“I did not.”
“Twice, I have spilt blood and salt.”
“Aye,” said the Boggy Mun.
“I come today not to beg but to bargain.”
The crumpled eyelids lifted, hung, waited.
“I know how to keep the water in the swamp.”
The eyelids waited.
“But I shall have need of your help.”
The water ran, the wind wailed, the eyes waited.
“I can act on All Hallows’ Eve, but not before.” I’d let the ghost-children speak for themselves, tell the villagers of the Boggy Mun and the draining and the swamp cough. But I’d have to wait for Halloween, for it is only on that night that ordinary mortals can see and hear the dead.
“I can do something that will make the men turn off the machines. If they do that, the water will stay in the swamp. But you must do your part. You must cure Rose of the swamp cough.”
The mist hung motionless.
“If Rose has died, or is near death, I shall have no reason to act.”
“Cured, no,” said the Boggy Mun. “If’n she be cured, I got me a notion tha’d flight wi’ her to them dry lands beyond my reach.”
He had a reasonable point.
“This be my bargain. Tha’ sister, she don’t continue no worse, she don’t continue no better. Tha’s got no need to fret on her ’twixt now an’ All Hallows’ Eve.”
Halloween. The night the dead rise and walk the earth.
“Tiddy Rex too,” I said.
“Tha’ sister an’ the lad shall survive All Hallows’ Day,” said the old-parchment voice. “An’ if’n matters comes about as tha’ says, the cough shall be lifted from tha’ sister, an’ from all t’other fo’ak what be striked.”
The wind wailed, the water ran, the Boggy Mun was gone.
It seems unfair that I can feel worry but not relief.
There, there, Briony: You’re asking for too much. After all, the Boggy Mun was surprisingly agreeable. You got what you wanted, didn’t you?
Mostly.
Then please shut up.
It was the ghost-children, of course, who should tell the villagers about the draining and the swamp cough. What an idiot to ever have thought of telling the villagers myself.
And even if they believed me, they’d know me for a witch and hang me. This way, I’d have a chance to escape. I’d call the ghost-children from their graves. I’d escort the ghost-children to the villagers, urge the ghost-
