CHAPTER 2
The wagon arrived at first light. Myra was still shoving the last of their things into rough hessian sacks when three big, burly men arrived, their patched leather tunics straining against the solid slab of their muscled torsos.
At an impatient gesture from Myra, Idira opened the door. One, then another, ducked into the main room, their massive presence filling up the confined space. Idira eyed their shaven heads, and the multitude of strange tattoos on their arms. One of them a had a black leather patch over his left eye. Even standing there, not doing anything, he looked mean, like he could torture a puppy for fun. She shuffled back into the shadows, not wanting to attract any attention to herself.
The last one came in and closed the door behind him. He tipped his head to Myra.
"Miss Northshire, Mr VanCleef sent us round to help ye wit' yer move."
Her lips pressed together, Myra just nodded, and carried on packing, jamming the last of the pots into the sack, not caring about the racket she was making.
He cleared his throat and lifted his voice above the clatter. "Ye can call me Jim, and this here's Fence, and—"
The biggest one, the one with the eye patch, lifted his hand and cut Jim off. He turned to Papa. In the half-light of dawn, most of his face was in shadow. He held out a meaty hand, his knuckles and fingernails crusted with dirt.
"Mister Jac," he said in a gravelly voice, "it's an honour ta meet ye. They call me Borda. I'm the master blacksmith down Moonbrook way."
Papa looked Borda over, inspecting him, his lips twisting like they always did whenever he was deciding whether he would be nice or not. He sniffed and leaned forward, jerking his head to where Myra was standing in the kitchen.
"Ye better be taking me to a better place n' this one here."
Borda didn't look at Myra, he just kept on holding his hand out, waiting.
"Aye," he answered, "it's the second best house in Moonbrook, VanCleef's orders. The servants o' the last Enforcer are in there now getting it all ready for ye's. Baking bread and roasting boar meat and what not."
Boar meat? Bread? Idira felt her eyebrows lifting to her hairline. She'd never had roast meat in her life. She glanced at Myra, hoping to share her delight with her. Myra ignored her.
"That's all well an' good," Myra said, her voice full of hard, angry edges, "but what about our house and land? Does yer Mr VanCleef expect us just ta abandon it?"
Papa glared at Myra. "Ye shut yer gob," he growled. "They can burn it ta the ground fer all I care."
Borda gave up waiting for Papa to accept his hand. He turned to Myra and looked her over, appraising her. A glimmer of appreciation slid across his face as his one eye drifted over her. He had something in his mouth, like a little stick, he moved it from one side of his mouth to the other just using his lips. Idira couldn't help but stare, fascinated. He tilted his head at the other two waiting behind him, their thick, muscled arms crossed over their tunics.
"We've some planks wit' us. Jim n' Fence'll be boarding up the winders and the door after ye leave. Should keep out the vagrants and the vermin. Heard ye got them stinking murlocs up this way now too."
Idira looked down at her bare feet, fighting a sudden upwelling of sadness. She had gone to look for her friend last night after Papa fell asleep and Myra was out 'walking' with Benny, but her friend was nowhere to be found.
Not knowing what else to do, she made another little pile of stones beside the murloc's pile, and lay her best seashell necklace on top. That one had taken her three days to make. She hoped her friend would like it. She waited, hopeful, until the black sky filled up with stars, their crystal light glimmering against the surface of the dark, roiling sea.
It wasn't fair, just as soon as she made a friend, she had to leave. She wanted to stay, but she had no say, no one cared about her feelings or what she wanted. She was just Idira, the one who had made Mama die when she was born. Myra told her often enough how much she wished it had been Idira who had died on the birthing table instead of Mama. Papa said it was Idira's purple eyes what killed Mama, saying Idira was cursed. Idira rubbed her eyes, wishing for the millionth time she could make the awful colour go away. She didn't mean to kill Mama, nobody ever asked, but she missed her, too.
Papa stood up, slow because of all his injuries and held out his hand to Borda. Fresh blood seeped out of Papa's scabbed knuckles as they shook hands. Papa was a little taller than Borda, and Idira was pretty sure Papa preferred it that way. He glanced at the other two, waiting by the door and sharpened his voice, "Aye, that'll do. Get them boyos movin'. I don' wanna keep VanCleef waitin' longer n' necessary."
They started with the big pieces of furniture, the kitchen table, and the big bed with the solid wood headboard and feather mattress; what used to be Mama and Papa's bed but when she died Papa said he would never sleep in it again, so now Myra and Idira shared it. Next came the dresser, and the stools, and finally Papa's cot.
Myra made a big fuss about leaving the pot belly stove behind, since it had been one of Mama's prized possessions. Myra harped on about it for so long, Borda finally said he would send another wagon round to collect it later, even though he had told her twice the house they were moving to had a much nicer cast iron stove.
While the men were busy tying up the last of the chicken crates to the sides of the wagon, Idira went to fetch the farm cat, Blackie. All black, except for a little white patch on her nose, Idira found Blackie hiding under the porch, her green eyes all big and scared. Idira wiggled under the low planks to reach her, the dust in the closed up space making her eyes water. Laying flat on the rocky soil, she extended her arms before her and opened a little piece of oilskin, carefully unwrapping the glistening white meat tucked inside, saved from her crab dinner yesterday. The tangy smell of it filled the narrow space. Blackie would be hungry, like always. The cat stretched her neck towards the meat, catching its scent. She licked her nose, tasting the air. She crept closer, wary. Booted footsteps pounded up the steps and across the porch, Blackie froze. Idira held the meat steady, waiting, willing the cat not to run. She could hear Papa moving around the house, yelling her name, angry and impatient, saying it was time to go.
"Please, Blackie," Idira whispered, her heart in her mouth. She couldn't make Papa wait, but she didn't want to leave the cat behind either, especially not when they were going somewhere where there would be food. Blackie shifted a little closer, and touched her nose to the meat. Quick as lightning, Idira grabbed Blackie by her scruff and scuttled back out from under the porch. Avoiding the cat's claws, she slipped her into an empty chicken crate and tied the door shut. As the cat bellowed in terror, Idira slid back under the porch and salvaged the crab meat. She pushed it into the crate, dropping a little on the ground in her haste. Blackie bolted it down, her hunger overcoming even her fear of confinement.
Idira lifted the crate and ran to the waiting wagon. Borda helped her up into the back and handed her the cat, shaking his head at her efforts. She knew the others didn't care about things like hungry cats, but she couldn't help it, she did. A hand smacked against Idira's temple. She turned. Myra glared at her from the bench up front, full of loathing.
Rubbing the sore spot, Idira settled the crate on her lap as Borda called to the big workhorses. With a creak of leather and a jangle of harness the wagon turned, slow under its heavy load. She looked back at the small two-room house she had lived in for almost six whole years of her life. The roof sagged in the middle, and some of its tiles had slipped free, leaving behind a wavy pattern. Beyond the house, the waters of the Great Ocean stretched away to the horizon, its wave crests glittering in the morning sun. She wondered if Moonbrook was close to the sea. She hoped so.
Jim and Fence were already hefting the pot belly stove down the porch steps, the muscles in their thick necks showing from their exertion. They left the stove standing in the middle of the yard, waiting to be collected. Fence picked up one of the new planks of wood, and held it up while Jim pounded nails into the kitchen's window frame, the staccato beat of his hammer carrying across the empty, desolate fields. Idira stared at the stove sitting alone and forlorn in the desiccated yard, it looked sad. She felt sorry for it, taken away from its home.
Blackie hunched down in her crate and began to pant. Idira poked her finger through the wooden slats, and stroked Blackie's nose, trying to make the cat feel better.
"You'll see," she murmured quiet enough so Myra wouldn't hear, "where we're going there's boar meat, you wait and see. It's going to be better. I promise."
The sun was at its highest when Borda's horses finally pulled into Moonbrook. Idira stared, wide-eyed, at the sudden existence of so many people. She ducked her head, shy, and peeked out between the slats of Blackie's crate. To either side, two-storey houses crowded up onto the street, the smallest of them at least four times the size of their little house. A few of the houses were very fancy, their carved and polished wooden beams gleamed in the sunlight, and smart red tiles covered their roofs. Within shiny clean windows, pretty blue curtains drifted in the breeze. One of the houses even had little planters with blue and red flowers on its window ledges.
Street after street opened out to the side of the main road as they progressed, the traffic growing busier and more congested as they entered the town's main square. Filling the centre of the square, an elegant three-tiered fountain rose up, its waters sparkling in the sunlight. A low stone wall lined with benches and rose bushes surrounded the area. From the top of the fountain, a stream of water bubbled out, the overflow cascading down its sides into the middle tier. Lily pads laden with white flowers dotted the bottom pool. In between the lily pads golden fish darted back and forth. Idira stared, incredulous, her tummy aching with hunger. What kind of place was this, where fish were just for looking at and not eating?
On two sides of the square, in between some of the grandest houses Idira could ever have imagined, several shops with big glass windows displayed their wares of cheeses, meats and sweet and savoury breads. Two other shops sold clothing, one just for men and one for women. Idira caught her breath, the dress on display in the women's shop was made of pale yellow cloth, its neckline and bodice worked with creamy lace and ribbons. It was a dress for a fairy princess.
She caught Myra gazing at it, wistful. With Myra's waist length wavy blonde hair, sea-blue eyes, straight nose, full lips, nicely arching brows and smooth skin tanned from the sun, Idira could tell Myra would look very pretty in it. She wished her sister could have the dress, maybe then she might be nicer. Myra had been wearing the same old brown homespun dress for years, its fully let-out hem ragged and torn.
Out of the corner of her eye, Idira watched Myra surreptitiously trying to smooth the creases out of her stained and torn dress, her sister's cheeks darkening with shame. From behind Blackie's crate, Idira examined the other women, some of them followed by liveried servants carrying their wrapped purchases. Those women were wearing very nice dresses. Compared to all of them though, Myra was by far the most beautiful. After all her sister had had to go through with Papa, she deserved something nice. Maybe now she could marry Benny and he could buy her that dress. He had lots of silver. Idira would ask him next time she saw him.
The horses came to a halt as Borda waited for a glut of carts to clear. The shop beside Idira only had big leather chairs in it. A man sat in one of the chairs with a line of white foam on his jaw, another man used a long flat blade to take it away. Idira had never seen that before. She glanced up at Papa, noticing his clean shaven face. Never once had she seen him shave. She had never even thought about it, she just thought that was how he looked. She glanced back into the barber shop, watching as the customer paid out a silver coin to the barber. A little spark of indignation ignited. So Papa had had money enough for that. Myra said one silver piece from Benny could buy them enough potatoes, carrots, flour and chicken feed for a week.
The carts cleared, and they moved on. To Idira's left, a massive open-fronted smithy looked out of place amongst all the grandeur. At least a dozen men laboured within, wearing nothing but breeches and leather aprons. Sooty sweat stained their muscled backs as they worked over the red hot coals, the ringing of their hammers against metal filling the air with the reassuring sound of industry.
Borda called to the horses, steering them round the fountain and through the chaos of wagons toward the opposite side of the square, facing the smithy. Women carrying baskets moved in little groups along the walkways, chattering amongst themselves, stopping to point at items on display in the windows. Near the fountain, a group of boys knelt playing some kind of game with little round stones, trying to knock their opponent's stones aside. Someone must have done something right, because four of them starting cheering and slapping each other's backs.
The scent of roasting meat pulled Idira's attention away from the boys. She turned just as the wagon rumbled past the open double doors of the town's main inn, the Weary Traveller. Groups of men and women sat at various tables, their platters overflowing with roasted meat and vegetables. Laughter spilled out into the square, mixed with the gentle strumming of a stringed instrument. Idira's mouth watered and her tummy growled, loud. She glanced at Myra, afraid her sister would scold her, but Myra seemed to have forgotten all about Idira. Though she tried to hide it, Idira could see Myra pressing her fists tight against her thin abdomen, something she did when her hunger pains were really bad. Only Papa seemed relaxed. Sitting like a king on the wagon's bench, he nodded at the townsmen as they passed by, acknowledging their respectful nods.
Borda slowed the horses, and pulled up in front of a massive stone townhouse three stories high. Idira tilted her head back, open-mouthed. It was very imposing. This couldn't be where they were going to live. He must just be stopping to rest the horses. She let her gaze wander, inspecting the adjoining buildings. All of them were built of stone. The central building was as wide as two townhouses and four stories high. A black and gold banner bearing a crest of crossed swords hung from the balcony of the second floor. The heavy material lifted in the wind and fell back against the stone balustrades with a sharp snap.
Borda jumped down and offered his hand to Myra. She took it and stepped down, dainty and ladylike. Idira had never seen Myra act like that before, not even with Benny.
"This'll be ye're home from now on. Mr VanCleef says ye're ta call on him when ye's have settled in. All o' ye's, even the little 'un." Borda nodded at the big townhouse with the rippling banner. "I reckon ye can find his house alright."
Papa stepped down from the wagon. He looked over their new home, unimpressed. "Aye, we'll be there shortly."
Borda reached up to help Idira down. She handed him Blackie first, and then let him lift her down onto the ground. She picked up Blackie's crate, and stared at the big carved door of the mansion in front of her. It couldn't be true. It had to be a dream.
Borda rubbed the back of his neck, eyeing the pathetic heap of their belongings strapped to the back of the wagon. "Ye'll find the house is already filled to the brim with fine furniture, so if ye prefer we can just store ye're belongings elsewhere."
Papa nodded. "That'll do well." He started up the stone steps to the front door.
"What about the chickens?" Idira blurted out.
Myra laughed, but this time, it was a pretty laugh, one Idira had never heard before.
"Idira, look around ye. Where're chickens goin' ta live in a house like that?"
Borda glanced at the chickens, the little stick in his mouth moving from one side to the other. "I reckon my brother could give 'em a good home, he's got hisself a little spread just outside of town. I can ask what you'd like for 'em?"
"Just take 'em," Papa said without turning around. "I never want ta be hearin' about chickens again." He lifted the latch. The heavy carved door swung open with a groan. He disappeared inside. Myra hurried up the steps after him, her ladylike behaviour forgotten in her eagerness to explore.
Idira sighed and followed them, her arms wrapped tight around Blackie's crate. At the top of the steps she waited while Borda released the brake on the wagon and eased the horses back out into the square. First her house, and now everything else was being taken away, even her seashell from her murloc friend, packed in one of the sacks. All she had left of her previous life was her homespun tunic and Blackie.
"Bye chickens," she whispered, tears filling her eyes. When she couldn't see the wagon anymore, she backed up, went inside and closed the big, heavy door.
Idira had only had enough time to find her room all the way up on the top floor and let Blackie out of the chicken crate before two girls no more than twice her age, wearing dark blue dresses covered with crisp white aprons walked into her room each hefting two buckets of hot water. Two lads followed after them, grunting as they wrestled a copper tub through the narrow doorway.
Lanira, Idira's new minder, swept into the room, her arms laden with fluffy, fresh towels. She eyed the labours of the serving girls as they filled the tub, her narrow, pinched face filled with disapproval. Her black hair had been pulled back into a bun so severe not one hair dared lay out of place. Idira guessed her minder was no more than ten years older than Myra, but she seemed a lot older, like an old woman who had never once smiled in her whole life. Lanira set the towels aside and crossed the room, her sharp eyes already betraying her anger about something, although Idira had no idea what. She took hold of Idira's arm and yanked her over so she could pull Idira's tunic up over her head, her movements a little too rough for Idira's liking.
"Nothing here a good scrub and a fresh dress won't fix," Lanira muttered to herself, as she tossed the tunic into the fireplace. Idira watched it succumb to the flames. That was her only piece of clothing. She wondered what she was supposed to wear now.
Lanira grabbed hold of Idira's chin and took a good long look at Idira's face. "Those eyes! How horrible. Never seen the like of it before. I suppose there's a hint of blue somewhere in there but still, what a strange, quiet child. For the love of the Light, say something, you have just moved into the second best house in all of Westfall. What's wrong with you, were you dropped on your head when you were a baby?"
"Hello?" Idira ventured, not knowing what else to say.
Lanira's hand slammed into Idira's mouth, hard. Idira blinked back her tears. It hurt a lot, she licked her lip and tasted blood.
"Think you're funny, do you?" Lanira scowled, her eyes narrow with dislike. "Your father told me to keep you on a tight leash. I can see why now, too clever for your own good, you are." She fell back onto her haunches and rubbed the back of her wrist across her forehead. "Oh why must I always get the problem cases? Just once, the Light could bless me with a nice normal child to mind."
Idira didn't say anything, but it appeared Lanira no longer minded her silence. She hustled her into the copper tub and scrubbed a lifetime's worth of grime from Idira's body and hair, complaining all the while, her ministrations rough and painful. When it was over, Idira sat before the fire, wrapped in a towel waiting for her combed out hair to dry while Lanira went to fetch something for Idira to wear. The serving girls came back and emptied the dirty bath water back into their buckets. They never looked at her or spoke to her. It was like she didn't even exist.
Alone once more Idira got up and looked around her room. It was really nice. It had a big window right under the house's front gable. From its vantage she could see the whole square and all the way past the roofs of the town to the surrounding countryside. In the distance, the glittering sparkles of the sea beckoned to her. She sighed, relieved. She could still see the sea.
The bed stood beside the window and had a high headboard and footboard, at least a half dozen thick cushions lay piled against the headboard. She lay down on the bed, it was so soft, it made her think of floating on a cloud. Urgent voices echoed up the stairwell, startling her. She slipped off the bed and hurried back to her place on the padded bench, afraid of being scolded. No one came. She looked around some more.
At the opposite end of the room a pretty dresser with an oval mirror faced the window, and beside it, a huge wardrobe with double doors. A thick woollen rug lay across the polished wooden floorboards in between the bed and the dresser. In between the bed and dresser stood the fireplace with its warming bench. And finally, tucked into the lower part of the gable, facing the footboard of the bed, a pair of padded chairs and a little table filled a nook. And that was it. The walls were painted pale blue, which offset the white door and marble fireplace. The bed cover was also blue as was the upholstery of the bench and chairs. Idira was glad, she liked blue, it reminded her of the sea and the sky. She was pretty sure she had been given the best room in the house. It was perfect. She could stay her for days with Blackie and just look out the window, watching the people going about their lives.
Footsteps rushed up the stairs and Lanira pushed in, her face even tighter than before. In her arms she carried a large box tied with a bright yellow bow.
"Hurry, you must get dressed. Your father is already waiting and ready to go."
Lanira pulled the dress from within its wrappings and shook it out. Apart from its soft pink colour, Idira didn't even have time to look at it before she was turned around and her hair tied into a loose bun. Lanira handed her a piece of clothing. Idira held it up, trying to make sense of it, was it a kind of cap? She put it on her head. Lanira made a noise of pure frustration, and mimed how to put it on.
"You can't go out without underpants on. How can you not know what these are? I swear you will be the nerve of me."
Idira complied and put them on. They felt funny, but she guessed she would just have to get used to them now she lived in a big, fancy house. Next came the shift, soft as a feather, then the dress. She looked down as Lanira laced up the back. It had a wide ribbon sash around the waist two shades darker than the dress. She touched the ribbon, savouring its silky smoothness. Lanira caught Idira's smile, and her face softened just a touch.
"So it took a dress to get through to you. Good, at least you are not a total monster, although what Mr VanCleef will think about those eyes of yours will be another matter. You better be on your best behaviour with him. He doesn't suffer fools kindly." She tugged and straightened Idira's dress until she was satisfied, then bent down and rummaged through the box's wrappings until she found what she was looking for. Out came a pair of soft pink leather slippers.
Idira slid her feet into them. Just like the underwear they felt a little strange, but she liked the feeling too, it made her feel special. Important.
Lanira held out her hand. "Come, it's time."
Idira took her minder's hand, stumbling to keep up as they raced down the three flights of stairs to her father and sister who waited in the entrance hall. Lanira tipped her head to Papa and handed Idira over to Myra.
Idira gaped at her sister's transformation. Myra wore a dark red gown pulled tight around the waist and cut low in the front, so the curve of her breasts stood out. Her hair had been swept up into a complicated style and decorated with little white flowers. A necklace made of silver and littered with red gems cascaded from her throat to her breasts. It moved as she breathed.
"You look like a princess, a magical princess," Idira breathed. "Just wait until Benny sees you."
Myra smiled and nodded, her face so much softer and prettier now all the meanness had melted away. She lifted admiring eyes to Papa, who had exchanged his bloodstained tunic and breeches for gleaming black leather armour. His hair had been slicked back, and in his dark armour, wearing a pair of daggers on his hips, he looked quite forbidding and dangerous.
"It's because of Papa we have all this."
Papa turned and glared at Myra. "No, it's because of Mr VanCleef we have all this. I still have ta prove my worth ta him, an' I will. But if any o' us displeases him, all o' this will end. Who do ye think lived here afore us? Aye, that's right, nothin' is certain yet. So mind yerselves in there, and don' ye be trying to be clever wit' him."
Idira followed her father and sister out of the house, catching the curious looks cast in their direction as they walked to the big house. She stood up a little straighter, concentrating on not treading on the hem of her dress. Someone whistled at Myra. Papa stopped and glared around the square, searching for the offender, his fingers tightening around his daggers' hilts. The noise of the square died down. Silence fell.
A scuffle broke out at the edge of the blacksmith's, one of the smiths had got hold of a blonde haired lad, spindly, no more than fourteen. A blacksmith, three times the size of the boy, with fists as big as the rocks along the sea, punched the boy in the gut. He cried out, doubling over. The blacksmith looked back at Papa, waiting, ready to strike again. Papa stared at the lad, his eyes narrowed. The boy looked up, panting, his eyes wide and full of fear. Papa nodded and continued on his way.
The smith hit the boy once more, this time in the jaw, before the other let him go. The lad crumpled to the ground, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Idira glanced up at Myra. Her sister wasn't looking. She kept her eyes down, her hands clasped in front of her. Idira had never seen Myra so quiet. She wanted her real sister back, the one she knew and feared a little. Just to have one thing the same would be nice.
Papa approached the imposing door of the big house. It opened in total silence. Her father and sister entered. Idira hurried to catch up. A man wearing black leather armour, the same as Papa's, stood just inside the door. He nodded at Papa, respectful. As the door closed behind them, Idira glanced back at the lad still huddled into himself on the dirt floor of the smithy and realised she knew nothing about her Papa.
They were led through the house and out into a central courtyard. In the middle, two men sparred with swords, the sunlight glinting off their weapons. One of them, wearing black and gold leather armour, wielded two swords. His long black hair hung down to his shoulders, giving him a roguish look. He looked a little younger than Papa, but he was much more handsome with his chiselled features, athletic build, and refined elegance. He fought with precision and ease. He glanced up at their arrival and halted his work. His training partner bowed and left.
Placing his swords back into their scabbards, he moved towards them, his movements reminding Idira of a cat's. He was nothing like Borda, Jim, Fence or Papa. VanCleef was like a prince from a fairy tale. She wondered why he would be here among such rough people when he looked like he belonged in a palace.
He nodded at Papa, and reached out to take Myra's hand. He lifted it to his lips and kissed it.
"Well, well, well, Jac," he said, soft, his eyes eating up Myra, making Idira feel uncomfortable. Even Benny never looked at Myra like that. "You weren't lying when you said your daughter would please me. She pleases me very well. Very well indeed. You may go. I will send for you tomorrow."
Myra turned to look at Papa, fearful, but he was already walking away, his back to her. Idira didn't know what to do. She couldn't just leave her sister alone with that man who looked like he was going to do bad things to Myra, the kind of things Benny wouldn't approve of.
"Off you go, little one," VanCleef murmured, without taking his eyes off Myra, "your sister is in good hands. I promise I won't hurt her."
"Myra?" Idira felt tears burning in her eyes. Everything was getting scary. Couldn't they just go home now, with the chickens and Blackie and forget about all this? She didn't mind being hungry, after all.
Myra swallowed and looked down at Idira. She forced a smile. "Go on, Idira. Go wit' Papa."
Idira backed away and slipped into the house. The last thing she heard was the tearing of Myra's beautiful dress.