some of the other monsters out there. She had to have me all to herself. That was to my advantage. Now she didn't know whether to eat me or believe me. Of course, I didn't have a penny in the world, but she didn't know that. Now she was certain to bring me more of that wonderful, thick, rich soup she used to bring me at first.
But, would you believe it, she was so stupid with greed! When she came back she brought nothing but more stale old bread – filthy, dirty bread as well that'd been kicking about on the floor for the past week. I couldn't believe it.
'There's nothing else,' she told me, sulkily.
'You're lying, you old sow,' I hissed. I'd have chucked her foul crust at her, if I wasn't so famished. 'What about the soup?' I demanded. 'You used to give me good soup. What about that? It's a long way to where my money's hidden. I need good food if I'm to get strong enough to fetch it. Don't you want me to do that, Melanie? Don't you?'
She stared at me dully and stuck out her lip, like a pouty little girl. 'I've got nothing…' she complained.
'Liar! Look at you! You're fat. You're fat while I'm thin. You bring me soup, Melanie, you hear me? Like you used to. Right?'
She looked sadly at the ground. I was furious! Hadn't she got any sense? 'Just a couple of decent meals and I'll be strong enough to go and bring us back some gold, and you're too stupid to go and get them for me,' I raged.
'I'll try,' she said.
It was such an obvious load of balls. She was fat enough. She almost waddled when she walked. But she was so stupid and greedy she expected me to get better and go and bring home the bacon while she half starved me. Stupid!
By the time she came back the next day, I was ready to eat anything. I'd crawled up the stairs three or four times, but it was obvious I had to get some food down me if I was going to get any strength. I was dreaming about the soup she was going to bring me – thick, steaming soup with fine lumps of fatty meat in it, and barley and big chunks of chopped vegetables. I even began to think quite fondly of poor old Melanie. Right at this very minute she was probably hobbling her way over the rubble with the soup cradled in her arms, carefully guarding the precious pot against armies of halfmen.
And when she came, guess what? Well, there was the soup! I knew she had it, the lying old bitch. I was a bit disappointed at how small the pot was, though. In my dreams it'd been a vast, steaming cauldron that she had to carry on her back, with huge lumps of meat and vegetables practically jumping out of it. Instead, she handed over a small earthenware pot. 'It's cold,' I complained. 'It's too small!' I moaned. The old sow was so stupid! All she had to do was look after me properly and there would be plenty. Didn't she understand?
Melanie said nothing. She watched closely as I lifted the lid off.
It was half full of dark, thin liquid. I lifted it up and looked in. There were precious few bits in it I glared at her. I raised the bowl to my mouth and slurped up a lump floating on the top -meat, I thought! But it was just some pappy, over cooked vegetable. I sucked in a mouthful of liquid. The soupwas thin, sour and rancid. Even to a starving man it was disgusting.
'You stupid bitch,' I hissed. And just to show her what I thought about her crappy soup, I chucked the bowl over my shoulder.
Melanie didn't say a word. She followed the bowl through the air with her eyes and then hobbled her way rapidly over to where it crashed into pieces against one of the walls. She lifted one of the pieces of crockery to her lips and sucked the remains of the soup still sitting in its curve. With her fingers, she scraped up the few little lumps she could find out of the dirt and ate them. She got to her knees, dipped the hem of her skirt in the puddle of liquid that was rapidly running away down the cracks, dabbing at it like some mad housewife cleaning up. Then she put the wet material to her lips and sucked the goodness out of it.
It went very quiet. There was my bream, coming in short angry gasps; there was the hiss of her sucking at her skirt hem.
'What have you been eating?' I asked her.
'There's not much at the moment,' she answered.
'What about that thick soup?'
'All gone, boy, all gone. I ad stores. Stored up things. All gone, boy. I done me best.'
And, I hadn't realised up till then, but I'd never seen her eat. I walked up and took her arm. Under thick, thick layers of rag, wrapped round and round and round, she was so thin, so thin. All her fatness was made of cloth, as the poor the world over do it, to keep out the cold they feel so keenly.
I started to think at last… at last I started to think! The way she'd come down the stairs to the basement and sat panting for ten minutes before she could even speak. Had she always been like that? The pinched look on her face. She never complained, never said a thing to me. I thought, what sort of greed was it that always put itself last? I shook her by the arm. There was nothing on her. 'You silly old woman,' I said, and I burst into tears.
41
In a clearing, in a wood, in a tower, in a wheelchair, in chains, a girl sat staring out of the window. She was fifteen years old and her heart was frozen as hard as a vegetable in the icy ground.
Outside a cold wind flung ice at the windows and blackened the leaves, but it was snug and warm behind the double glazing. A thin disco beat pulsed in the background, music from an earlier age. The air conditioning hummed, the furniture settled into the carpet. Signy's prison was back again to its former opulence. Having killed everything she knew and loved, Conor was now wooing back his young wife.
Another girl, only about a year or so younger, knelt at the wheelchair, weeping. Cherry was ageing at a cat's speed; her puberty was rapid. In another few months, she'd be older than her mistress.
'He's dead,' said Signy coldly, as if she cared nothing for the other child.
'No! I saved him. I saw the old woman-pig… I said!' begged Cherry. She was desperate about her beloved mistress.
Signy shook her head. 'You'd have heard something by now, or Conor would've. It's been months.'
'Odin gave him the knife!'
'Conor has it now.'
'You have to give him time to recover. I saw him escape!'
'Then where is he?'
'I'll find him, you'll see. The old woman-pig moved away. She's hidden him but I'll find her again. I won't let you down – no, no! I keep telling you, a man is worth a fortune over there, they make good slaves, they learn quickly. People don't just kill men, they have more sense than that.'
'He's dead. And so am I.'
'He's in hiding! The halfmen are retreating back out to the freelands. Conor is slaughtering them by the thousand! Your brother can't just get up and walk about. He has to recover, he has to get well, his wounds have to heal…'
Cherry trailed off. Every time Signy opened her mouth, her head jerked. She was terrified that her mistress would live up to her threat and kill herself.
Signy sighed slightly. 'You could keep me alive forever with this story if I let you.'
'How would it be if you killed yourself and it turns out he's still alive – what then?' Signy shook her head, but her eyes filled with tears. 'He wouldn't want you to carry on like this,' said Cherry, rubbing her arm along Signy's leg, as if her limb were a cat. 'Conor wants you back.'
'He's mad!'
'Yes, yes, mad! But he loves you.'
'Love,' said Signy. Yes, Conor loved her. But why? Had he something to gain from it? Maybe for him it was the final defeat of his old enemy – to make Val's daughter fall in love with him after all he had done.
'What does he know about love?' she said wonderingly.
Cherry settled herself at her mistress's feet. A flicker of fur showed on her face. 'Sleep with him and you can slit his throat Use him. Pretend to forgive him and wait for the time to take your revenge.'
