Chapter 8

MARCH 14TH

A nnice came back home, feeling utterly drained. The day had, for once, not been entirely made of tension. The three women had come round for the earring, and they'd made an afternoon of it. One of them - the middle of the three, Alexandra's mother - had asked about having tea in, perhaps from one of the nearby places. She'd disappeared and then come back twenty minutes later with a hamper full of food.

It had meant Annice could lock up the shop, not worry about who might overhear, or any of the other dozen worries that normally flew around her, like flies. They'd been generous, too, not just with the tea, but with their purchases, each of them picking up a piece. It was enough to keep Annice in groceries for at least a few weeks longer without dipping into Grandad's savings again.

But when they finally left, for a promised supper of fresh-caught fish, back at the inn, Annice had felt deflated. She wasn't really hungry; she didn't feel steady enough to try carving, so instead she went up to the workshop to tidy up. There were still more than a few cupboards that hadn't been properly cleared out in years, in the eaves by the stairs, and they would not sort themselves.

Annice was in the middle of the second one when she moved several books and a pile of ancient newspapers that crumbled in her hands. Underneath, she found a large flat cardboard box, tied shut with string. She set it in her lap, picked at the knot with her fingers until it gave way, then removed the lid. What was inside startled her, badly.

It was the width of her palm, and about half the length high. It was big enough to have made a significant brooch or hair ornament or something of the kind, and wasn't anything like that. This pulsed with magic. When she turned it over, there were tiny engravings on the back, which had a shallow curve to it. It was meant to sit on something, maybe even spin or move lightly. Even with her jeweller's loupe, she couldn't make sense of the markings. They weren't any kind of magic she'd seen, never mind been taught.

Carefully, she set it back in the box, and the paper on the box, and the books on the paper, feeling like one of the counting folksongs in reverse. She closed the cupboard carefully, as if she might wake something up. Then she sat there, trying to catch her breath.

It could have been Da's work. He'd had proper magical training. But she hadn't thought he did things like that. It wasn't like she could ask him now, and she didn't think he'd kept more than routine business records. Certainly she hadn't yet found anything like a working journal.

The only thing Annice could think to do was have tea. The tea was decent, but it turned out not to solve any of her many questions. Finally, she considered. If she went round to Aunt Sarah's, maybe one of the cousins could talk it through with her, at least. That meant a trek across the bridge, to the west side of the port, but the weather was just cloudy, not raining, and not that unpleasant.

The house was, as usual, complete chaos. Uncle Donald was off on a fishing trip, as were the male cousins. But that still left Nan's sister's daughter Aunt Sarah, two of her daughters, two daughters-in-law, and a dozen children including the three babies. They were all crammed into two houses next door to each other. It took a good hour to get through all the pleasantries, and for Annice to agree to a cup of tea and a scone, but not more food. For one thing, she knew they were more skint than she was, if only by virtue of more mouths to feed, and more growing little ones.

Finally, though, she and Ruth, the cousin she was closest to, ended up on the back steps. They sat looking out on the bare little plot of earth that didn't really justify being called a garden, though come a bit later in the spring, it would have some hardy plants growing again. Aunt Sarah usually got a couple of things that flowered in there, for a bit of pretty, as she said.

"You've not been round." Ruth laid it out, point by point. "Mam was thinking you wouldn't."

Annice's chin came up. "Been busy." Her shoulders came up too, defensively. "She put out?"

"You know she worries you think you're better'n us, and it's no good." Ruth shrugged. "Good you came. Also good you didn't need feeding. Mostly."

Annice let out a hollow noise. "Client fed me tea today. Not that common, not like I'd turn it down. I came to see if Aunt Sarah knew anything, but not if she's..." Not if she wasn't sure if Annice was still part of the family. Or was ready to do her part helping the family, or whatever. If any of the boys had showed any sign of wanting to learn jet carving, she'd have taught them long since. But they preferred the fishing boats, even though that was dangerous work. Not that jet carving couldn't be, if you didn't have a touch of magic to catch the dust. They all knew far too many people who'd died of a black cough.

Ruth stared out across the yard, at a point somewhere near the middle of the rickety fence. "You ask. She'd rather." Ruth's voice got flatter, the broad vowels coming out more.

"Will you get her to come out when she's got a minute, then? You too, if you like." Annice offered it as a peace offering of sorts.

"Aye." Ruth pushed upright and disappeared into the house. There was a burst of sound through the open door until it swung closed. It sounded like bedtime was even more unwelcome than usual. After a few minutes, Aunt Sarah came out, drying her hands on a dingy apron. "What's tha, then?"

"Hoping you might know about something, Aunt Sarah." There, she'd make it proper. "It'd be a help. And checking in, too."

"Eh." Her aunt settled down next to her. "We're in a fuss, Ruth wanting t'get married, but where would we put her Sam, that's what I want to know. And there's nawt for space at his."

It was, in fact, a knotty problem on both ends. Ruth and Sam had been sweet on each other for ages. He'd had steady work fishing, but it wasn't enough to afford their own flat, never mind a house. Annice knew that one solution was to ask Ruth and Sam to live in Grandad's and Nan's house with her. She was rattling around. It was true. She didn't need all that space.

But she hadn't been able to figure out how to make it work with the shop. She loved Ruth - and liked Sam - but they were noisy as anything, even on their own and not needing to shout over their brothers and sisters and cousins and all. Sound muffling charms weren't a magic she knew, and even if she did, they wouldn't work well with either the shop or the workshop. She needed to hear other things in the house. Instead, Annice just made a soft, uncommitted noise.

Her aunt let it sit there for thirty seconds before snorting. "Stubborn, thou awt." It had a fair bit of affection to it, the countryside twist to the words. "Had somewhat to ask?"

"I found something in a box, buried under other things. No one's touched it in years. This big." She gestured, drawing the line of it against her hand. She remembered the cool oddly light feel of it, the way jet looked like stone and wasn't really stone at all. It made a soul remember it had been wood and still had some quality of it.

"Ah." Aunt Sarah looked off toward the back of the fence too. It was a favourite staring spot. Someone really ought to hang something decorative there. "Your da. Don't know much about it, mind. Just that he thought it'd bring, dunno. Good. Keep out what wasn't."

Protection, then, or some combination of protection and attraction. "Where'd he learn it?"

"Dunno. Saw it once or twice. Not like anything else. Then they put it away. Wouldn't talk ‘bout it. After the boat went down with your uncles." Fishing was dangerous, storms were more so, and two of her uncles had drowned when Annice was little. From the stories she'd heard later, people missed the way they were sober, and not the way they were drunk, and no one talked about that, either. Annice nodded slowly. "You don't know anyone who'd know?"

"Think on't." Aunt Sarah shrugged. "Should go see to the littles."

"Thank you." Annice meant it, trying to put that in her voice. Aunt Sarah patted her absently on the shoulder, and then used that same shoulder to lever herself upright, leaving Annice and Ruth on the step. There was silence, well past when the door closed and they could hear themselves think again.

"You know what she wants. Thinks you ought t'offer." Ruth whispered it. "Can't tell her otherwise, me either."

Annice's chin came up. "You don't want to?"

"Not unless you're actually willing. And you're not, so." Ruth shrugged. "We'll figure something, I don't know. Sometime. Somehow." She sounded both determined and resigned, all at once, and Annice wanted to make it better, without seeing any way to.

"Come up for tea sometime? Both of you. I don't know. I really don't. But tea, at least. Away from the chaos."

"Mmm." Ruth bumped Annice's arm with hers, companionably. "Can." Then she leaned back on her other hand. "You lonely, there?"

Yes. No. She liked the quiet, it turned out. Though Nan and Grandad hadn't been very noisy most of the time. Just the sounds of them moving around. "Some. The quiet would be fine if I could make more jet pieces and sell them. Bill told me he can't gather for me anymore. Too many people spotted it, y'know? Caused trouble for him, too." Ruth made a grumble deep in her chest, disapproving, but Annice shook her head. "He's got to do what he needs. No good otherwise."

"He owed your grandad somewhat. Don't know what it was. Just that he did." Ruth laid it out, like she bartered at the fishmonger, cutting the deal as finely as anyone could. "What're you going to do?"

"Dunno." That was the truth. "One day at a time, yeah? And that stone, I don't know what it's meant for. Maybe I could find someone to buy it."

"Doesn't solve all of it," Ruth pointed out. "You need a man to keep carving. Cover for your work. Someone the others would accept. Or the family." Her shoulder twitched, and she glanced over behind her at the door. "And that's not a simple thing."

Annice grimaced. "No." Then she stood. "You're all up early. I should get back."

"Come again, aye? I'll make your goodbyes to Mam." Then Ruth was standing, coming to open the side gate, so Annice could slip out without causing even more chaos by saying goodnight. The walk back was harder, somehow, like everything was grey and the life and light was getting sucked out of the world even more than it had.