Lesser Beings Read online

  At the bottom of the hill, Old Hodder plodded past taverns, shops and grain stores. Though it was mid morning, two sailors staggered from a tavern. They sang a bawdy song that attracted smart remarks from a couple of painted ladies, lolling from an upstairs window. One of the women, with brassy hair and red lips, leaned provocatively over the sill. Her bosom, clad in a shiny green bodice, looked like a pair of ripe melons. Lita turned away, embarrassed for the women. A summer ago, she would not have guessed what the painted ladies were. For years, she had thought they were pretty wildflowers in a field of drab and ordinary women. But now she could not bear to look at them knowing they let men run their hands under their skirts.

  MaKiki glanced at Lita. Predictably, she said, ‘Count your blessings Lita. If not for Old Hodder and our wagon, we too would have to don the scarlet and entertain drunks.’

  MaKiki turned the wagon down a cobbled lane and stopped in front of a building with a solid brass knocker. Above the door, a sign with gold gleaming letters declared the establishment to be ‘Yawmouth Licensing.’

  ‘What are we doing here?’ Lita asked.

  ‘Buying a permit to trade,’ MaKiki replied, shaking her head. ‘Yawmouth loves its laws. I heard they made a hundred new ones this year. Next you know, you’ll need a permit to pass wind.’

  Lita giggled.

  ‘Keep an eye out, I won’t be long.’

  While Lita waited, she picked at the hole in her shawl. She knew she should have been mending it because they could hardly afford a new one. But the way it was put together fascinated her. That shawl had begun its life as one long piece of yarn. It could have been anything. A shawl, a bonnet, a coat, a blanket. Then two hands had come along, fashioned it into loops and slips and purls and stitches until it became recognizable as a shawl. At its heart, it was still the same ball of yarn. And if she picked at the shawl long enough, it would return to its original form. In many ways, it was the same as her Changing.

  A boy interrupted her musing. He sauntered past with a monkey on his shoulder. She had rarely seen monkeys outside the pages of a book, and this one was small, head snapping right and left like a nervous robin. When the boy was half way up the alley, the monkey slipped from his shoulder and tottered on hind legs. It looked just like a tiny, hairy child. The boy cocked his head to the left and clicked his fingers. It appeared to be a signal, because in the next instant the monkey scaled a drainpipe and entered an open window. The boy, meanwhile, leaned casually against a wall, posing like a Senna with his hands deep in his pockets and legs crossed at the shin. His feet, though, were bare and the ragged pants were several sizes too small.

  When the monkey reappeared at the window, it held a necklace in its paw, which it tossed into the boy’s waiting hands. Once the spoils were pocketed, the boy glanced in Lita’s direction. He put a silencing finger to his lips, winked at her, and swaggered on.

  ‘Well,’ Lita said out loud, half in disapproval, half in admiration.

  Following that, a couple of young merchants strolled past. Lita could tell immediately that they were merchants by the way they dressed. One of them, though he was surely too young to need it, carried a gold walking stick. ‘You heard about the cave-in at Shindalay?’ he said, twirling his stick.

  ‘No,’ his companion replied.

  ‘They lost a hundred Beasts and one of their best foremen.’

  With a mild shake of the head, the other said, ‘They’ll need more Beasts, if they’re to keep their ore contract.’

  The two men paused outside the license house.

  ‘They want us to send a fresh herd as soon as possible.’

  ‘That’ll take months.’

  The two men faced each other and seemed so absorbed in their discussion they failed to notice Lita perched on the seat of the wagon. She sat still, barely breathing, because she suspected they would say no more if they knew an eavesdropper was present. Lita hoped their discussion might reveal more about the Beasts. These days, few folk saw them, which of course only added to the speculation surrounding them, including rumours about their powers of Change. It bothered her that these mysterious creatures might possess her same secret power. More than once she had pondered on its significance.

  The merchant with the walking stick smiled smugly. ‘Under normal circumstances it would take months before a new herd could be sent. But my father is a clever man, he thought something like this would happen. We have a cargo of Beasts coming in tonight.’

  ‘Tonight?’

  The merchants began strolling away and Lita, full of curiosity, decided to follow. Perhaps she would learn something about the Beasts. She slipped from the wagon, allowing five steps between herself and the young merchants. She could only just make out what they were saying but dared not draw any closer. They had only to turn their heads and they would realise they were being followed.

  When they turned the corner at the end of the street, Lita paused. She could still hear them and when she peeped, she saw that the merchant with the gold cane had stopped to light a pipe. She crouched low and snuck around the corner, hiding herself behind a cart.

  ‘You know,’ one of them said, and she presumed it was the one with the golden cane because of what he said next, ‘it has worked out perfectly, because now we can get rid of them straight away.’ He paused, maybe to puff on his pipe, Lita thought, as the scent of tobaccos drifted over her. ‘Down at Prittlesiding, we have a warehouse ready for them,’ he continued. ‘And I was supposed to oversee their husbandry which, thank goodness, I won’t have to do now.’

  ‘And you get to name your head-price unless they’re willing to wait until next spring. Very smart,’ his friend said.

  Lita wondered where Prittlesiding was. She had never seen a Beast before.

  ‘Just good business,’ the man with the golden cane replied.

  They began to move off and she might have followed them further, but she heard MaKiki calling her name.

  Lita scuttled back to the wagon, where she saw MaKiki standing with both hands firmly planted on her hips. Her lips were held in a grim line and the back door of the wagon hung wide open.

  ‘What?’ Lita asked.

  ‘Why did you leave the wagon unattended?’ MaKiki asked.

  ‘I was only gone a moment. And besides, the door was locked.’

  ‘Well someone unlocked it. From the inside, it would seem.’

  ‘What?’

  MaKiki stepped into the wagon and Lita followed. Inside, the wagon was in disarray. Bedding was ruffled, cupboards gaped, books lay open on the sideboard. It was evident someone had been rifling through their possessions. But how had they got in? And then Lita spied the open window above her bunk. Her heart sank. The boy and the monkey. The boy had only to pass the monkey through the window, wait for the creature to turn the handle and then he would have had free entry to their wagon.

  But nothing appeared to be missing. They had not taken any of the pots or books - only rearranged the wagon, as though they were searching for something.

  As these thoughts occurred to Lita, MaKiki kneeled and lifted a loosened board under the bunk. Her hand dipped in to the cavity. ‘Oh no,’ she cried. ‘It’s gone. They took it. How did they know?’

  Lita felt the blood drain from her face. ‘What do you mean?’ she asked.

  MaKiki turned to Lita. ‘All you had to do was sit in the wagon until I returned. One simple task. And now…’ She slumped against the bottom bunk. ‘All our savings gone, just like that.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Lita said, her eyes brimming with tears. ‘I didn’t mean for it to happen.’

  ‘Oh, for goodness sake Lita,’ MaKiki said, slamming her hand on the floor. ‘When will you grow up and take some responsibility. You know what this means don’t you. Remember last winter?’

  Lita sobbed.

  ‘Don’t start that,’ MaKiki sighed. ‘There’ll be no fancy shawl for Tithing Day this year. Let alone a new pair of boots,’ she said, pointing to the hole in her heel.

/>   ‘I’m sorry,’ Lita said.

  ‘Yes,’ MaKiki replied standing up. ‘You will be sorry. All winter.’ She put a hand up when Lita started to say something. ‘I’m too angry to speak to you anymore. Better you stay silent and help me tidy up.’

  MaKiki said few words as they tidied the wagon and Lita felt the heaviness of guilt settle in her chest. Once they were rolling down the lane, Lita could no longer contain her silence and she told MaKiki her suspicions about the boy with the monkey. But the older woman merely nodded and pursed her lips tighter. Lita wondered why they did not march down to the bailiff’s office straight away and ask for the monkey boy’s arrest. ‘He was almost as tall as me,’ Lita said. ‘And he wore torn trousers and no shoes. Surely there can’t be that many boys in Yawmouth who are in possession of a monkey.’

  ‘It’s not as easy as all that,’ MaKiki replied.

  ‘But why? I thought the bailiff was there to protect folk from thieves and such.’

  MaKiki lowered her voice. ‘I know the boy you described. I have seen him before and believe me it is better if we do not draw any attention to the matter.’

  ‘But why?’

  MaKiki shook her head.

  ‘Why?’ Lita asked a little more forcefully.

  MaKiki sighed. ‘Because the boy belongs to the Hunter. And we, by which I mean you, need to be invisible to the Hunter. And that is why we will not go to the bailiff.’

  ‘The Hunter’s in Yawmouth?’ Lita’s heart skipped a little faster.

  MaKiki shook her head and lay a hand on Lita’s knee. ‘Don’t worry. I have it on good authority that he is presently away on business in Lacnor City. Still, I don’t wish to tangle with those under his employ – such as the bailiff.’

  ‘The bailiff is under his employ?’

  ‘And now you are starting to sound like a parrot,’ MaKiki said. ‘Yes, Lita. You will learn someday that there are few folk you can truly trust.’

  Lita’s heart sank. She knew that MaKiki had been relying on that money to help them get through the winter.

  *

  The dock teemed with all manner of folk including sailors and merchants, shop boys on errands, barefoot urchins and snooty women in fine bonnets and long gloves standing by as their maids haggled over scoops of dried beans, rainbow scaled fish, green tasselled carrots, flour, salt, sugar, and oil.

  Further on, several skiffs and three ships with tall masts were tied to bollards. Sailors lumbered down the gangplanks with heavy grain sacks balanced on their backs. Amongst the crates and sacks, gold-toothed merchants struck deals with the captains.

  MaKiki parked their wagon down the far end of the dock near the grain stores. This was where tinkers and pedlars sold their wares. All afternoon they did such a brisk trade that Lita started to feel a little cheered but when she commented on their good luck, MaKiki snorted and said, ‘The money we make this afternoon is barely enough to have Hodder reshoed.’

  Winter was a lean time and if it was as wet as the last, they would have to stick to the highways. Lita recalled how few sales they had made the previous year. All the tinkers had been forced to travel the same route and therefore everyone’s sales were lower than usual. By winter solstice, she and MaKiki were unable to afford cheese, or vegetables or meat and were reduced to gathering wild greens and eating porridge twice a day. It was only through scavenging and hunting they had managed to vary their diet. It was a thing that townies would never understand.

  Midafternoon, when there was a lull in business, MaKiki straightened her back and downed her tinker’s tools. ‘I want you to run an errand,’ she told Lita.

  Lita, jumped at the chance to redeem herself. ‘What would you like me to do?’

  MaKiki pulled her last remaining ring from her left hand. ‘You can take this to the putter man and tell him I want new shoes for Hodder, seven sack of oats, a wheel of hard cheese, a bag of barley and a kep of dried meat in exchange. Tell him that if he holds the ring until next midsummer I will pay double for its return to me.’

  Lita nodded solemnly. In the last few years MaKiki’s collection of rings and broaches had dwindled. After the sale of the ring, she would have only the locket she wore under her tunic.

  ‘I will write it down for you. Don’t settle for any less than I ask.’

  Shortly afterwards, Lita strolled past the grain stores, then the taverns and the flock houses. She tried to avert her eyes when she noted a woman with painted eyes, lips and cheeks leaning against an open doorway. But the woman wanted some sport and called out to Lita, ‘We don’t bite, you know.’

  Lita turned, and gave the woman what she hoped was a friendly smile. She could feel the heat blazing in her cheeks and when she locked eyes with the painted lady she was dismayed to see that under all the paint, the woman was barely her elder. Lita marched briskly on, aware of the other’s gaze boring through the back of her head.

  Before long she turned down Putter Lane. She clasped the ring and MaKiki’s note in her palm, with a firm resolve to obtain a champion exchange. Somehow, she would put things right again. She was pleased that MaKiki still trusted her enough to send her on an errand, until she realised that it would have been a truer sign of faith if MaKiki had entrusted her with the care of the wagon instead. She shrugged off the thought and started reading the name plates on the doors. If she recalled, Sellum Pinkle’s shop was nearby. Lita had accompanied MaKiki to the shop several times over the years. Last time they were there, he had offered Lita an old liquorice root to chew, which she declined after noting the weevils in the bottom of the jar. Lita thought him overly dull, but MaKiki swore he was one of the few putter men with whom she would trade.

  When Lita finally reached the end of the lane, she realised she had overshot Sellum Pinkle’s shop. She retraced her steps until she stood in the place where his shop should have been. Instead of Sellum’s shop there was a sign for another putter man in the window: Jemson Fogwart’s Puttery and Holy Petitions, it said. Lita hesitated. She wondered if she should enquire after Pinkle. She peered through the window and noted a tall man sitting at a desk. When Lita pushed against the door, the hinges groaned, announcing her intrusion. The man behind the counter looked up immediately and with a grimace returned to his scribing.

  ‘What do you want?’ he asked when Lita cleared her throat.

  ‘Do you know what happened to Sellum Pinkle?’

  ‘Undertaker’s,’ the man said, without looking up.

  ‘Pardon?’

  The man glanced at Lita. ‘Died after Yuletide.’

  ‘Oh,’ Lita said, and she turned to go. MaKiki would not be pleased when she returned empty handed. And then she had another idea and she turned back to face the putter man. The sign outside his door mentioned holy petitions. Surely a pious putter would not swindle his customers. She decided she would enquire about a trade and then she could at least go back to MaKiki with some information. It couldn’t hurt, could it?

  She cleared her throat and pasted a smile on her lips. ‘I wonder if you would consider a put,’ Lita said. ‘My guardian told me I must only deal with Pinkle. But I suppose I’ll have to choose another now.’

  Fogwart raised an eyebrow and stretched out his hand. ‘Well, show me what you’ve got. I haven’t all day.’

  Lita deposited the ring and the note into Fogwart’s palm.

  He read the note, sniffed, and then handed them back. ‘Not interested,’ he said. ‘Try Grimm’s two doors down. He deals with that sort of thing. Good day.’

  Lita retreated hastily. She did not care for Fogwart’s manner at all, even if he was pious. Two door’s up, she found Grimm’s Puttery and, unlike Fogwart’s shop front, Grimm had all sorts of mysterious objects in the window including a fan made of peacock feathers, a golden cutlass, a stuffed monkey – with wry humour, Lita thought she could recommend another monkey for stuffing – a horn made of shiny white bone, a pickling jar, a saddle and a tray full of rings. Lita peered through the window, noting that the shop was filled w
ith all manner of curiosities. This looked more promising, she thought.

  She pushed against the door and was greeted by a tinkling bell. Behind the counter, a slender man of middling years sprang through a set of curtains. ‘Good day,’ he sang. ‘What brings you to my humble shop?’

  Lita explained the purpose of her visit and the unfortunate business of Sellum Pinkle’s demise.

  Grimm clucked his tongue and shook his head; he pulled a kerchief from his pocket and wiped a speck from his eye. ‘Very sad, very sad indeed. But there you go. You knew him well, did you?’

  Lita shook her head. ‘My guardian did business with him on a few occasions, and that is all. I wonder,’ she said, pulling the ring and the note from her pocket, ‘whether we could turn our business to you.’

  Grimm took the note and the ring. He ummed and ahhed for quite some time. He turned the ring over and took it into the light, so he could inspect it more closely. Finally, he handed the ring and the note back to Lita. ‘It is not a high grade of gold I’m afraid.’ He shook his head. ‘And the stones are only semi-precious, although they fooled me at first. A very fine imitation. The craftsman who made this was very skilled but not as cunning as I.’

  ‘Oh,’ Lita said. How would she tell MaKiki? ‘But you haven’t said how much you would trade.’

  Grimm walked toward his window and pulled out his display of rings. ‘Do you see how many rings I already have? And these are far finer specimens than your guardian’s. I could offer half of what your guardian requests in exchange and even then, I make no profit for myself.’

  ‘Perhaps I should try another putter then,’ Lita said. She could barely conceal the disappointment she felt. She turned to go, but just as she placed her hand on the door the putter man made a different offer.

  ‘Four sack of oats, and two bags of barley, that’s as good an offer as you’ll get anywhere.’