‘
Yes, he saw. He saw plenty.
Snell caught his eye and made a wicked face, mouthing vicious promises. His little sister, Cousin Two, whose name was Mew, was watching from where she held on to the table edge, seeing but not understanding because how could she, being only three years old; while Cousin Three, another girl but this one named Hinty, was all swathed in the cradle and safe in there, safe from everything, which was how it should be for the littlest ones.
Harllo was five, maybe close to six, but already tall —
Aunt Myrla had the rest of the vegetables in a steaming pot over the hearth, and Harllo saw her flick a knowing look at her husband, who nodded, not pausing in massaging the stumps below his knees, where most people had shins and ankles and then feet, but Uncle Bedek had had an accident which was something like Rape only not on purpose — and so he couldn’t walk any more which made life hard for them all, and meant Harllo had to do what needed since Snell didn’t seem interested in doing anything. Except torment Harllo, of course.
The air in the cramped room was smelling earthy and sweet now, as Myrla fed more dung on to the small health beneath the pot. Harllo knew he’d have to go out and collect more come the morrow and that might mean right out of the city, up along the West Shore of the lake, which was an adventure.
Snell finished his onion and crept closer to Harllo, hands tightening into fists.
But Harllo had already heard the boots in the alley outside, crackling on the dead fronds from the collapsed roof opposite, and a moment later Uncle Two swept the hanging aside and leaned into the room, the barbs of his face looking freshly painted, so stark were they, and his eyes glowed like candle flames. His smile revealed fangs.
Bedek waved. ‘Gruntle! Do come in, old friend! See how Myrla readies a feast!’
‘Well timed, then,’ the huge man replied, entering the room, ‘for I have brought smoked horse.’ Seeing Harllo, he waved the boy over. ‘Need to put some muscle on this one.’
‘Oh,’ said Myrla, ‘he never sits still, that’s his problem. Not for a moment!’
Snell was scowling, scuttling in retreat and looking upon Gruntle with hatred and fear.
Gruntle picked up Harllo, then held him squirming under one arm as he took the two steps to the hearth to hand Myrla a burlap-wrapped package.
Bedek was eyeing Gruntle. ‘Glad you made it back,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Heard about you at the gate and that moment in Worrytown — damn, but I wish I wasn’t so. . useless.’
Setting Harllo down, Gruntle sighed. ‘Maybe your days of riding with caravans are done, but that doesn’t make you useless. You’re raising a fine family, Bedek, a fine family.’
‘I ain’t raising nothing,’ Bedek muttered, and Harllo knew that tone, knew it all too well, and it might be days, maybe even a week, before Uncle One climbed back up from the dark, deep hole he was now in. The problem was, Bedek liked that place, liked the way Myrla closed round him, all caresses and embraces and soft murmurings, and it’d go on like that until the night came when they made noises in their bed, and come the next morning, why, Bedek would be smiling.
When Myrla was like that, though, when she was all for her husband and nothing else, it fell to Harllo to tend to the girls and do everything that was needed, and worst of all, it meant no one was holding back Snell. The beatings would get bad, then.
Myrla couldn’t work much, not since the last baby, when she’d hurt something in her belly and now she got tired too easy, and even this glorious supper she was creating would leave her exhausted and weak with a headache. When able, she’d mend clothes, but that wasn’t happening much of late, which made Harllo’s raiding the local markets all the more important.
He stayed close to Gruntle, who now sat opposite Uncle Bedek and had produced a jar of wine, and this kept Snell away for now, which of course only made things worse later but that was all right. You couldn’t choose your family, after all, not your cousins, not anyone. They were there and that was that.
