The Witch Watch (20 page)

In particular, he always felt that the English view of the Scottish was more than a little unfair. The Scots were viewed as belligerent drunkards, having poor singing voices and worse taste in music. Their speech was incomprehensible to the point of comedy. They ate more than they should, as long as it was of no nutritional value. They had no head for education. They spoke louder than was reasonable and with much profanity. Gilbert had known a few Scotsmen during his time in the military, and he found all of these views on the Scottish people to be wildly inaccurate - even slanderous - until the day Ivar arrived at Ravenstead.

It was in the early part of September when Ivar was added to the list of guards in Lord Mordaunt’s employ. The scorching August heat had relented and blessed the men with cool air and slight breezes, but Ivar spent every day since his arrival bathing in his own sweat. He was not as tall as Gilbert, but he was broader, barrel-chested, and probably a bit heavier. He seemed to be the origin of every bad stereotype Gilbert had ever heard, and was capable of sustaining them single-handedly. He tended to stare at people without provocation. In idle moments he would set his wild eyes on whoever was closest, clenching his jaw and daring them to meet his gaze.

Ivar had been given special treatment by the headmaster. He was the only one of the men to be called by his proper name. Instead of forcing him to improve his slovenly appearance while on duty, Headmaster Graves assigned him to guard the rear entrance. It was obvious he drank on duty, although he was never in too much of a stupor to stand and watch at his post. This was tolerated without comment, even though the other men knew better than to attempt the same themselves.

Gilbert did not immediately confront Ivar as he’d done with the other men, and Ivar never attempted to shame Gilbert with his angry stare. The two avoided each other. Everyone could see that a conflict was inevitable, but neither man was rushing into it.

Gilbert had beaten the men into shape. Not proper
military
shape, but at least they were less of an embarrassment. Their barracks were looking less like stables by the day, and Gilbert had gone for over a week without having to punch a man for throwing refuse on the floor or drunkenly pissing in the corner. Their pranks were less frequent and less destructive, and they were beginning to accept him. Perhaps not as a superior officer, but at least as a bully they could appease through proper manners.

Ivar changed all of this. The men saw weakness when Gilbert ignored Ivar’s offenses. They began to return to their old ways. They acted like Ivar when Ivar was around, using him as their shield. Gilbert couldn’t correct them for something when Ivar was committing the same crime just a few steps away. Gilbert saw his project slowly coming undone.

Ivar was used to being the dominant force in the room, and it obviously frustrated him to see the men so often defer to Gilbert. The two men were at a truce, but neither of them was happy with it. They never spoke to each other.

Sooner or later, one would topple the other. When that happened, the rest of the men would make the winner their leader in all but name, and the loser would become the target of their many pranks. Neither man was in a hurry to face that trial, and so this storm was slow in building.

Their first confrontation came late one morning while Gilbert was whitewashing the outside of the barracks. He’d stripped off his shirt and tied a cloth around his waist in order to protect his clothing.

“Well, look at the pretty lady come to fix up our humble cottage!” boomed Ivar from behind. The words were horribly mangled, and it took Gilbert a moment to sort them out and realize they were directed at him. He turned, and saw Ivar was regarding him with a malicious smirk.

Ivar was a man of diabolical ugliness. The top of his head was perfectly hairless, and on his jaw was a great beard of untamed black hair. His face was red with windburn and his skin had the texture of uncured leather. His nose had been broken at some point, and had healed at an unsightly angle.

Gilbert hesitated. Now was not an ideal moment to settle things with Ivar. Gilbert was tired, shoeless, shirtless, and in the middle of important work. His bucket of whitewash was standing open nearby, and it would be a financial loss to him if it was spilled.

A few men stopped bickering over their card game to come outside and see how things turned out. Gilbert cursed his luck. He didn’t dare back down with the men watching. He sighed and stepped away from his supplies.

“A nice dress you’re wearing,” Ivar slurred, pointing at Gilbert’s makeshift apron. He was drunk. This was the first time he’d been drunk this early in the morning. He was just now coming off duty.

Gilbert snatched the cloth away and tossed it into Ivar’s face, “You can have it, if you’re so fond of it.”

Ivar pulled the cloth away to see Gilbert was now standing just a few inches from him. The two men locked eyes. Ivar clenched his jaw and breathed out a noxious cloud of alcoholic vapor. The other men were slowly gathering into a circle around them, elbowing and whispering to each other. Money began to change hands.

Suddenly Ivar slapped Gilbert on the shoulder with one of his thick hands. It was like being hit with a steak. “Keep up the good work, soldier!” Ivar laughed uneasily before turning away. He wobbled inside, muttering to himself.

The men could not hide their disappointment. They shuffled off and did not return to their cards.

Once he was alone, Gilbert let out a long, slow breath.

“Why are you sighing?” Simon asked.

“There’s only so much amusement a streetlamp has to offer,” Gilbert answered. He pulled his hood tighter around his head. Passers-by were staring at them as Simon stood gawking at the light.

“It’s a marvel!” he beamed, his glasses glinting in the light. “And so many. They go all the way down the street. So much brighter than gas lamps.”

“I can’t believe you’ve never seen one before. They began putting them up around London two years ago. No, five years. I keep forgetting. Dreadful mess. They dug trenches through the streets to lay the cables. It was impossible getting around.”

“I’ve never been to London. I’ve never even been away from Ravenstead. Most of my life was spent at the academy,” Simon paused and flinched slightly with the memory. “After that I spent time both at the academy and the manor.”

Gilbert was quiet as a group of men hurried by. He was never sure how safe it was for people to hear his voice. Once they had passed he answered, “I guess that explains why you never saw an electric street light. But haven’t you seen them elsewhere?”

“You, know, it’s funny,” Simon said, finally taking his eyes off the lamp and turning to Gilbert, “His Lordship did have electrical apparatus in the cellar. I saw it only once, and it wasn’t in use at the time, but I remember a large thing draped with copper wires. I brought down a load of coal once and placed it in a bin next to the machine. Had no idea what it was at the time. I guess it was for making electricity.”

“A strange thing for him to have in his house. I don’t remember seeing any electric lights anywhere in the place.” Gilbert looked up and down the sidewalk nervously. “Let’s keep moving, I think we’ve made ourselves enough of a spectacle for tonight.”

They had arrived in London early the previous morning. They were still chasing Headmaster Graves, and hoped to catch him before he and his men boarded the ship to America. They had spent the night in London, where Simon got a bit of long-overdue food and sleep. They set out again when evening came. Gilbert wanted to start out sooner, but he wasn’t willing to push the boy any harder. Simon had spent most of his life being neglected, hungry, and tired, and Gilbert didn’t want to add to his sufferings.

The boy had perked up considerably, and was now dashing through the dreary London night, full of joy and wonder. “Where are we headed next?” he asked once they had left the curiosity of the electric light behind.

“The train station. From there we head for Liverpool. You’ll be able to sleep a bit more on the train if you need it.” Deprived of his mortal needs and desires, Gilbert found the business of eating and sleeping to be mercilessly tedious.

“I couldn’t possibly sleep now!” Simon beamed. He was walking along, looking almost straight up to see the tops of the surrounding buildings against the black sky. Gilbert steered him away from trouble as they walked.

The train station was a place of ornate desolation. A relatively new building by London standards, it was clean and well-kept, and decorated with much elaborate ironwork. Yet it felt cold and somehow empty despite the many huddled passengers. The sounds of footsteps echoed in the space as if they were descending into a tomb. A large clock scowled at them overhead. The place smelled of burning coal and engine oil.

Gilbert looked at the schedule and worked out which train and which platform they would need. Then he gave Simon most of their remaining coin and sent him to purchase their tickets.

“We’re in luck,” Simon said once he returned. “Our train has just arrived.”

Gilbert hung his head. “Then we are not in luck. Somewhere ahead of us is the headmaster, and his men. If fortune was on our side, then our train would have arrived hours ago, and our quarry would be waiting for us on board. As it stands, they left on the previous train. Or even the one before that, if they didn’t stop for rest.”

“What makes you think they didn’t-” Simon was cut off as Gilbert yanked him sideways and dragged him to the other side of the platform. A group of Red Sashes was coming towards them and Gilbert wanted to get out of their way.

“I don’t know if they rested or not,” Gilbert explained when they were at a safer distance. “Remember that the Headmaster doesn’t know we’re chasing him. He has no reason to hurry on our account. The last time we saw each other, I was on my way into his master’s trap. Now that I’m thinking of it, it’s possible he went back to Ravenstead to report to your master.”

“He’s not my master anymore,” Simon muttered.

“You’re right. And I’m glad to hear you say it,” Gilbert said warmly.

They boarded and tried to find a cabin where they might be left alone. They sat in silence until the train departed. Simon was enthralled with the experience at first, but after a while he became used to the gentle rolling sensation. The lights of London faded into the distance.

Finally Simon turned from watching the darkness drift by their window, “Gilbert, what do you think will happen to me? When this is over, I mean?”

“I don’t know,” Gilbert said. “You speak well. And you’re literate. You’re young, and you’ve been taught proper manners. You should be able to find work somewhere.”

“I don’t know how to do that. There’s a lot I don’t know. Most of my life has been spent studying things that would get me hanged.” He took his hat from his head and fidgeted it with it in his lap. “I’m always afraid of saying or doing something that will give me away. It’s one of the reasons I went back to the manor after you freed me. I just couldn’t imagine myself walking out into the world and living my own life.”

“You’re not a slave anymore. You shouldn’t be asking what will
happen
to you next. Instead, ask yourself what you want. You should find it easy to figure out what to do once you have a goal.”

Simon looked down thoughtfully. “Up until now, my only desire has been to escape the hunger and the beatings. Now that I’ve achieved it, I’m not sure where to go next. I guess what I want is to stay with you a while longer. I had many boys that I called friends in the academy, but the truth was that any of those boys would have socked me in the eye if it meant an extra handful of bread that evening, and I suppose the same was true for me. We weren’t friends, really. We were just people who shared a common misery. I think you’re the first person I could ever call friend. I haven’t forgotten what you did for me back at the church.”

“Don’t forget that you’ve paid me back for that kindness by saving me from your former master. I owe you my life, or whatever this is called. And if we’re very lucky, my mother will owe you her life as well.”

“Well, if the question is what I want to do with my life, then I seem to be doing it already,” Simon said with a smile. “I’m happy to help you with your mother, in exchange for your guidance and protection.”

Gilbert laughed, “You might need protection less if you weren’t with me, but I accept your offer. You’ll be my face, and I’ll be your sword.”

Simon planted his bowler on his head again. “Agreed!” he said, holding out his hand.