Descriptive enough chapter title for you? Given my remark in...chapter 15, was it? Runaway? The final chapter to the "Child's Plight" arc?
I think that's where I said it....
(For the most part, I'm not going to try to come up with any "Wow!" chapter titles. Something short, and vaguely descriptive—preferably without giving away the entire chapter—is sufficient for my needs.)
I don't own Doyle. I don't own the Secret Saturdays.
I do own Corbin, Zander, the servants, Fae, and (unfortunately) the oh-so bigoted villagers.
No, Corbin and company still don't know Doyle's name by the end of this chapter.
But they will by the end of next chapter.
Stray
"Pop quiz," the servant said, shouldering another package. "You know Benton brings in a lot of meat, right?"
The child nodded and forced himself not to sigh. More lessons. The animals taught him how to stay alive, and that hunter had taught him some tools to help. Even what he'd learned from the farmers, and some of the stuff Corbin showed him, was useful, at least when he helped Corbin to tend to his land or the animals.
But he could not understand why they gave him these other lessons, like they gave Zander; when he tried to ask about it, they waved it aside, and just told him people needed to know these things.
"All right, and Corbin buys meat here in the village, right?" The child nodded again. The servant sneaked in a quick glance to be sure the child was listening. "Now why, seeing as Corb and Benton are friends, doesn't Corb just buy his meat from Benton directly?"
Now the child sighed, and the servant chuckled at the sound. The child had asked that exact same question on one of the first trips, after he'd seen where Corbin got his meat from. He remembered the servants had talked a lot about something they called "economy," but had never actually answered the question.
The child frowned. It still didn't make sense to him. "Mr. Corbin's got money, more than a lot of them. He could buy more than the whole village and still have more money."
"True, true. So the villagers can't all afford to buy so much meat. And let's suppose they can't afford to work for it, either. So why not just give them the meat?"
The child shrugged. "I think...I think Mr. Benton does give away some of the meat." He thought for a moment, then nodded. This, he remembered from other trips. "Yeah, he gives away the meat to them as can't buy it, and sells it to everyone else, cheaper than the other hunters sell it. But they don't sell it for less, so...." He frowned.
"So...." the servant prompted.
"They sell it to others for the same price as the stuff they buy from other hunters, right? Which is more than what they pay for any of it for. But 'cause they ain't paying so much for what Benton catches, they got more money left when they're done. They got more money to buy other things they need."
"Exactly!" The servant gave a huge smile, and chuckled at the child's startled expression. The boy would clearly be puzzling over that one for the rest of the day, but this lesson was success enough for the moment.
"And not just things they need; even them as haven't got much money like treats now and again. And speaking of treats...." He pointed towards one of the other shops, and dropped his voice to a whisper. "I believe the fellow who owns that shop has started importing some of those candies you and Zander like so much. So why don't you," he pulled a handful of coins from his pocket and pushed them at the child, "go pick some out, huh? I've got one more thing I need; I'll be just around the corner if you need me."
"Um—but—" The child swallowed, afraid again. "But...but I—"
But the servant missed his expression, and had already walked into the next shop.
The child took several gulps of air, trying to resist the urge to panic. His hands were slick with sweat; he fumbled to put the money into a pocket before he dropped it. It's okay, he told himself. He looked around through the crowd. I'm fine. Nobody's watching me. Nobody cares.
He took another deep breath, and another, until he could breathe normally; his heart stopped pounding and slowed to what felt normal. They won't touch me. Corbin won't let them touch me, not while I can still work for him and Zander; they don't want him mad.
He wiped his hands several times before they felt dry, and convinced himself to go into the shop.
He knew what to do; one of the lessons was about the different kinds of money, and how to read a price and add up the coins. He found the candies and busied himself counting the coins the servant had given him, to be sure what he could buy. Corbin would know if one of them tried to cheat him, but he wanted to do this right. He didn't want Corbin to have to fix things after.
He was focused on counting the coins, trying to suppress the sudden wave of fear. He only barely heard a voice hiss the word "gypsy," before he was slammed into the wall.
—
The child looked up, half-dazed, into the angry face of the store keeper.
The store keeper dragged him to his feet and towards the back of the store. The child struggled to get free, but the store keeper yanked on his arm, forcing the child to fall to the floor again. "Would someone give me a hand back here?" the man called.
"Please," the child cried. "Please, let me go!"
Two other people came forward and picked him up and carried him through the back door. The child kicked and yelled and bit and screamed and scratched.
The store keeper slapped him, cutting the child's lip. "This is the last time you'll steal from this village, you filthy little vermin!"
"What—? No! I didn't steal nothing! Let me go!"
The struggles had drawn a crowd, but none of the people looked interested in helping the child. Of those who could see into the store, most looked bored; others watched the child with anger, or what looked like hatred, and only the presence of the men who held him prevented these others from touching him.
The child managed to bite the hand of one of those who held them, the soft, tender part between the thumb and forefinger. The man yelped and dropped him.
The child rolled to his feet and tried to get away, but someone else in the crowd grabbed him and shoved him back towards the store keeper.
Two more people held the child against a counter, using their full weight to restrain him.
"We ain't had so many problems with thieves until you people came around," another man snarled. "We ain't had to use this punishment in a long time, but now you'll see why we don't get thieves around here."
One of the child's captors grabbed his arms and stretched them out across the counter. The child's face was pressed down; he couldn't see what they were doing to him.
Someone grabbed his hands, and he felt something long and sharp along his wrists.
It moved across his wrists...pressed into his wrists...pressed harder and harder....
The child's pleas turned into wordless shrieks as he fought to get away. But he couldn't even move—
The weight against him suddenly vanished, and he collapsed to the ground, sobbing uncontrollably.
The last thing he saw before he blacked out was the servant screaming and waving a knife at the crowd.
—
"What the hell is the matter with you people!" the servant growled, pointing the bloody knife at the mob. "I swear, the next one to touch that boy—I don't care if it's today or fifty years from now—I'll bury this knife in your skull!"
"Oh, get out of my way, will you?" a woman's irritated voice said from the back of the mob. The mob, afraid at the servant's anger, made it difficult, but she managed to shove her way through them and past the servant to kneel over the boy.
The servant turned and grabbed her shoulder, forcing her to face him. "I said—"
"I assume you don't want him to keep bleeding," she snapped back at him.
He blinked, startled, shaken briefly out of his rage. "Fae?" She jerked her shoulder free and turned back to examine the boy's wounds. The servant turned back to face the mob, a scowl set on his face.
None of them stepped forward to face him, or to try to make excuses for their guilt.
In a moment, she cleared her throat to get his attention. He turned back to see that she'd torn off part of her dress to bind up the child's wrists. "It's not perfect," she said, "but it ought to hold till you get him back home, at least."
He tossed the knife to the floor—several of the people jumped at the motion, and he sneered at their fear—and he gathered the boy in his arms. He glowered at the people who remained behind, until they finally parted to let him outside.
Fae helped the servant tuck the boy into the empty cart—he'd brought it for the things he'd bought, but he'd dropped them when he'd heard the child screaming, and he did not intend to go back for them. Then the servant climbed up into the horse's saddle and headed back home. It was a small miracle that the horse knew the way, for the man was so enraged he could not even think to guide it.
—
The following morning, Fae traveled to Corbin's place to look in on the boy. She'd brought some supplies over, to replace those they'd lost in the village.
Corbin immediately refused the supplies. "Take them back, throw them in the river, for all I care!" He waved his hand at her cart. "I will have nothing to do with those idiots, not after this!"
"And what do you plan to do for food, then, huh? You're gonna let your boys starve just because those bigots hurt the kid? Are you trying to finish what those idiots started?" She crossed her arms and stared him down.
Corbin stared, open-mouthed. "I...I didn't mean to say...."
"We don't know which of them started it," Zander said from his position on the stairs, "and which were just scared and going along with the rest. He doesn't want to give any more business to them as chose to hurt my little brother." He made a disgusted noise. "Personally, I think he's lettin' them off easy, like he's tryin' not to want revenge. If it were me, I'da been after them soon as I knew what'd happened." He forced a smile onto his face. "Least I would, if I didn't think I'd fall on my face only two steps down the road."
"Two steps?" Fae lifted one eyebrow. "I see you're doing much better than the last time I'd seen you."
"All right, five steps, then."
"Well, if that's all, then you people are in luck." She flapped a hand at one of Corbin's servants, gesturing for some of them to unload the cart. "None of that came from the villagers. I got it all from one of the gypsy clans Benton trades with."
Corbin looked up. "Gypsy...gypsy clans?" He nodded at the servants to start unloading, then gestured for Fae to speak with him.
"Look...um, Fae. These clans...." Corbin chewed on his lip for a bit. "Is there—is there any way you could talk to them? Maybe get one of them to talk to me? I...I mean...." He blew out his breath. "I don't want to give him up, you know I don't, but I was thinking, it'd be a lot easier to take care of him if I actually knew something about him, you know?"
Fae nodded, but said nothing.
"Those wounds are infected, but Perez can't even give him anything for it without knowing some kind of medical history. The guy's scared to death that he'll give him something the kid's allergic to or something and—" He wiped away the tears that threatened to fall. "What those people did to him, it's more than just his fear I've got to deal with. I'm in over my head, here. It's not like taking care of one of my other strays. I don't know what to do anymore. I just—I don't know how to help him."
"I'll be glad to help," she replied. "I can't guarantee results, but I'll do whatever I can." She smiled, the first genuine smile since the boy had been attacked. "You know you only had to ask."
—
"So how much do you know about these people?"
Fae grimaced. "Not much. They like to keep to themselves—and can you blame them?"
The man shook his head.
"Benton said...I'm not sure what their name really means, but he said they introduce themselves as the 'ghost' or 'spirit' clan."
"So how do you figure they'll be around? I mean, after what happened.... If I were a gypsy, I wouldn't even want to be on the same planet as some of those idiots."
"That's why they'll be close," Fae replied. The servant gave her a confused look, and she tried to figure out how to explain. "These people think that kind of stuff happens because of evil spirits, and some of these clans are trying to cleanse the places. Like a whole clan of...I don't know their word for it, but I suppose you might call them shamans, or something."
"When dealing with the gadje," another man commented, "we find that 'shaman' is one of the more...acceptable terms."
Fae and the servant jumped at the voice, and turned to face the man. "My apologies, sir," Fae said with a curtsy, "we didn't expect to see you so soon."
"You people never do," the man replied.
"Fae... Fae." The servant tugged at her sleeve. "Look around."
She did, and saw more than just the one watcher. There were others watching from the road; most had weapons drawn and aimed.
I'd originally thought to have the servant get the story out of the villagers as to why they attacked Doyle, but then I decided I'd rather have him leave in this state of anger.
I'll use the "catch-22" argument about being forced to steal (my excuse for why Doyle eventually learns to be a thief, barring any official history from Jay Stephens) elsewhere.
Probably some time when someone tries to criticize an adult Doyle for being a thief (probably someone else who also thinks all gypsies are thieves).
Unless/until J.S. says otherwise, I'm going to say that Doyle doesn't ever become confident handling money (and stop having panic attacks over it) until sometime after Van Rook hires him.
Does he ever have this kind of problem again, like with the villagers, between now and then? Probably not, at least not that I'll write. Though he continues to be very nervous (at best) about the idea.
As to Corbin's reaction: Corbin and company are essentially gentle people. Benton, Corbin and the entire household have livelihoods that depend on being patient, being calm, etc. They are not violent people (Benton's job besides the point).
And yet when faced with what those villagers did to Doyle....