Defective (17 page)

"Yes, fine. Just
clumsy."

He took several
deep breaths as he allowed his sister to inspect the wound. She
reached inside her shirt pocket and took out a clean cloth. She
handed it to Narrow and told him to soak it in the creek and bring
it back. She looked at the cut, decided it didn’t need stitches
then covered it with the handkerchief again.

"Here, hold onto
it like this," she said and put his thumb on top of the cloth and
pressed down lightly.

She scurried away
and crouched down between a row of carrots and onions to pick
something. She returned with a fistful of oregano as Narrow came
back with the cloth. Jelly rung it out, took the handkerchief from
Forest and gently daubed the damp cloth on the wound. She blew on
it to dry it then took the oregano and ground it between her two
palms. When it had turned to paste in her hands she scooped some on
a finger and dabbed it along the cut. She wrapped up the wound with
the clean end of the cloth.

Forest
concentrated on the feeling the pulse his thumb made as it
throbbed. It made the throbbing in his head stop.

___

Pater rolled off
his bed onto the floor and groaned. He crawled toward the kitchen
table and used it to steady himself as he stood up. His mouth felt
horrible and his bowels were aching for attention but he caught
sight of the tea jars and the food. One of the jars was almost
empty so he clawed at the lid of the other one till he got it open
then swallowed half of it in one gulp. He grabbed the tub of
porridge and used his fingers to shovel it into his mouth.

He’d spent most of
the night at his still on the far side of Honey Hill, stumbling
back to the farm in the dark well after the moon had set. His
original plan — to return to the lookout post the next day to see
if the Landlord had left — had deserted him after a few drinks. He
was hungry. All he wanted was to go back to his bed and eat and
sleep.

His intestines
gurgled impatiently. They wouldn’t wait much longer. He grabbed the
tea jar and two hard biscuits and scurried to the outhouse.

Behind the
curtain, Titania lay in a deep sleep.

___

After a later
breakfast than PC Pierre was used to, he harnessed Josephine to the
cart. The Landlord was still washing up inside. He had slept well
past dawn and into the middle of the morning.

The Landlord
finally finished his toilette and emerged from the cabin. He hopped
into the front seat of the wagon and sat down. PC Pierre got a
whiff of whiskey, as did Josephine who shook her head back and
forth.

"You'll be upwind
most of the way, Josie," he whispered in her ear.

"Let’s get this
pony trap of yours going."

"I’ve seen to
Jonathan, sir," said the Constable, adjusting the straps of
Josephine’s harness as she took the extra weight.

"Oh, good. Thank
you, Pierre."

The Constable took
his seat beside the Landlord and heeyapped to Josephine. Slowly,
she plodded forward.

___

Hap sat on the
edge of the cliff and watched as the sun rose behind him and light
up the valley below. He had been up for an hour already watching
for Marvellous to return but she hadn’t.

It took some doing
but Hap managed to lower the bicycle down the cliff edge on a rope.
He immediately spotted the route she’d taken; the narrow trail
snaked through tall grasses and wildflowers.

___

Porkchop carried
Mixer across the yard and handed him over to Santa without saying a
word. She disappeared into the loft.

After his
successful contact with the Landlord last night Mixer had gone from
brother to sister, slipping into their thoughts and checking for
potential problems. As Mixer suspected, Forest’s subconscious had
already registered the storm brewing and planned to alert Porkchop
in the morning. Mixer tied his brother’s thoughts to pain, using
the images of the storm against him. Forest’s mind threw out
pictures of grey and black clouds, hail stones the size of onions,
and funnel clouds that could gouge great holes from the ground and
fling the debris far and wide. When Forest’s mind threw out a
lightning bolt, Mixer was ready with a bolt of pain. Forest
flinched in his sleep. Mixer tested him twice more to make sure he
got the message.

Narrow and the
twins posed no threat. Nor did Santa. Jones could kill animals but
he doubted he could kill a person. Besides, he and Bull would be
off hunting somewhere.

Santa sat him at
the table with a bowl of porridge, a small cup of lukewarm tea and
a hard biscuit. He was hungry but forced himself to eat slowly and
deliberately. When he was halfway through his meal he reached out
to find the Landlord again. He was awake but appeared to be still
in the Constable’s cabin.

Santa puttered,
preoccupying her thoughts with a rota of chores. As Mixer ate, she
sat down at the table and cleaned the heavy frying pan. Mixer had
to sit on his knees to reach the table and even then he had trouble
dipping the biscuit in his tea.

Mixer, regardless
of what Marvellous thought he was capable of, was her brother and
she loved him. She knew she was the only one in her family who did;
the others tolerated him and would protect him out of duty, but
they did not love him. Santa knew that there wasn’t much to love
about Mixer; he was unpleasant most of the time. But he also hadn’t
had the benefit of two parents for as long as the rest of them and
she wondered if that made any difference.

Ma had always told
them not to show off what they could do, even to each other. She’d
been a good parent, but not a loving one. Pa had tried to be loving
but was often foiled by Ma who thought that being soft would ruin
them. But now, Pa was back. He loved Mixer, she was sure of it. And
he did look funny with his tea and biscuit, so absorbed. Pa would
get a kick out of that, she thought. She smiled as she seasoned the
pan with deer fat.

Mixer gently
tilted the cup towards him and dunked half of the biscuit in, long
enough for it to soften up, shook off the excess tea and brought it
to his mouth. He nibbled off the soft bit then redunked the biscuit
to soften it some more. He could feel Santa thinking about him but
it was in that benign way she had. He ignored her, chewed and
concentrated on Porkchop. He could hear her moving around in the
loft and tried to reach out to her but found nothing but boot
leather.

Porkchop sat on
one of the hay bales in the loft and stared at her boots. Her eyes
started to glaze over in a fuzzy haze and she realized that she had
an image of Pierre in her head. She pushed it aside with a violent
shake of her head. She reached down under the hay and fished for
the knife. She put it in her pocket and climbed down the
ladder.

___

"Can’t this damned
donkey of yours go any faster?"

"She’s a mule sir.
She had a long journey from Battery the other day. I don’t want to
ride her too hard."

"I should have
taken Jonathan."

"Then he’d be
tired for the trip back to Battery."

The Landlord
harrumphed. At this pace there wouldn’t be time to start for
Battery anyway, regardless of how well rested Jonathan was.

Oh well, he
thought, staying another night with Pierre is a small price to pay
if all goes well. In return for taking the children off his hands,
the Landlord hoped the old man would see reason and offer something
in return.

He was sweating in
the hot sun. He took his flask from his jacket pocket and swished
the alcohol around in his mouth before swallowing it. He thought of
the blonde one; he didn’t know her name — he’d never bothered to
learn any of their names — but she had come to him in his sleep
again last night. He thought about the old man. He hoped he’d see a
fair deal when it was offered to him. If not, there were ways to
make him see.

"We’ll be there
soon."

Josephine
continued to plod along. She pricked up her ears when she heard a
rumble, far off and too low for the Constable to hear. Her nostrils
opened wide. Her already slow pace slowed even more.

___

Hap cycled as fast
as he could. Grasses caught in the spokes whenever he took his eye
off the path so he had quickly trained himself to look only at the
ten or so feet in front of him. He had checked his progress only
once since leaving when he’d stopped and climbed atop a boulder.
Then he’d been about a quarter of the way; now, as the late morning
sun beat down on the left side of his face and neck, he knew he was
more than halfway there.

___

Porkchop had been
waiting outside the front of the barn for hours. She’d already
cleaned and repaired the gutting trough, dumped the water from the
cisterns into the waterproof crates, and chopped a few days’ worth
of wood and kindling. She sat down on a tree stump by the barn door
and oiled all the tools. They had an impressive array. She
remembered back to the days when they first arrived and had
discovered all these wonderful things.

The day had been
sunny so far and hot, with only thin bands of cloud drifting across
the sky, but she shivered. Looking up she saw the clouds
thickening. She wondered if Marvellous had been wrong; that he
wasn’t coming.

She took off her
boots, one at a time, and oiled them. When they shone, she put them
back on. As she was bent over, tying up the laces, she heard the
Constable’s whistle. She sat up straight and tapped on the barn
door to signal Santa.

Mixer had turned
sleepy after his breakfast and Santa had carried him to the loft
for a nap. She latched the gate at the top of the ladder and
climbed back down.

"Did you really
need to do that?" the Landlord winced when the Constable had put
away his whistle.

"Yes sir. It’s the
law that public officials announce themselves before setting foot
onto private property."

The Landlord
narrowed his eyes. He didn't like the way the Constable had said
‘private property.’

Josephine plodded
down the road into the farm house yard. Porkchop stood by the barn
door, her hands at her side. Behind the door, Santa stood waiting
for her sister to call her. Porkchop took a deep breath then raised
her hand in greeting and walked over to the mule cart.

"Good afternoon,"
said the Constable. "How are things? Everyone doing all right?"

As she was about
to answer, the Landlord jumped down from the cart.

"Enough of the
pleasantries. Girl, go round up your family. I have some news for
you."

"News? What kind
of news?"

"Good news. Go on
now, go get your brothers and sisters."

He made a
dismissive gesture with his hands, shooing her away.

"They’re all out
at their chores. It’ll take a while to round them all up. Perhaps
you’d like to tell me what the news is and I’ll tell them
later."

"No, no. You go
get them. Pierre will help, won’t you Pierre? I’ll wait."

Porkchop saw the
Constable look at her, but she addressed the Landlord instead.

"If you insist.
Santa!" Porkchop called loudly towards the barn.

Santa took a deep
breath then emerged and joined them at the cart. She greeted the
Constable warmly.

"Sir," she said to
the Landlord.

"Which one are
you?"

"Santa."

This could have
been the one he’d seen from Honey Hill but it wasn’t the blonde he
wanted. This one, despite being moderately attractive, was plumper,
the kind of plump that would, soon enough, turn to fat.

While the
Constable took care of Josephine, Porkchop explained to Santa why
the Landlord was here.

"I’m sure he’s
thirsty after the ride. Take him to the barn and fix him some tea.
The Constable and I won’t be long."

When the Constable
finished with Josephine Porkchop took another breath then took his
arm and led him back towards the road. Loudly, so that the Landlord
could hear her, she told him that Bull and Jones had gone off that
way this morning.

The wind picked up
and started whipping the trees back and forth.

That’s odd, Santa
thought. Forest is never wrong.

She hurriedly
gestured for the Landlord to follow her. He followed her across the
yard.

"Who lives in the
house?"

"Our grandfather.
Sometimes others."

"One of your
sisters?"

"Yes and sometimes
a brother."

"Which
sister?"

"Titania."

"Blonde?"

"No sir. Red
hair."

"Is there another
sister?"

"Jelly, she’s our
youngest sister. She has dark hair."

The wind howled
and Santa had to force open the door with both hands and hang onto
it as she let the Landlord pass in front of her. The door shut with
a bang.

He followed Santa
into the barn and sat down at the table, flicking the long ends of
his new jacket over the back of the bench. As Santa busied herself
preparing his tea, the Landlord looked around the barn, taking in
the racks and racks of plants in the far corner, the workshop and
the potting area. Bundles of herbs hung everywhere. His eyes
strayed up the ladder to the loft. A gate swung open at the top of
it. Beyond that he could see hay bales and the odd bit of red or
blue or brown coloured blankets.

They were hardy
little bastards, he thought. A rumble of thunder made him and Santa
look up. She was about to turn back to her task when she noticed
the gate open at the top of the ladder.

For a moment she
debated whether she should stop and find Mixer. She quickly put the
thought out of her mind and poured the tea from the prepared jar
into a white china cup and saucer, one of a few sets they’d found
in the crates. The family had never used them; they were far too
delicate. But Santa thought that this was as good a time as any to
use them and had unpacked them after breakfast. On the sides of the
saucer she placed two small blueberry biscuits. The family had been
gorging on the berries ever since they’d started to ripen a week
ago.