The Malice. Peter Newman

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СКАЧАТЬ she finishes, Vesper stands up, hefting the bucket. ‘I need to get a bottle, don’t go anywhere, okay?’

      The kid watches the girl leave. He turns to his other mother but she has already gone. Tongue lolling, he swings his head back and forth, unsure. He takes his first steps, stumbling into the goat’s domain.

      There is a thud and a squeal.

      A moment later he scurries out, running for safety. He doesn’t dare look back.

      Tin bowls sound like anemic bells as they are moved, and a soft voice chatters in the kitchen. Vesper attends to the words and pauses, holding her breath. She does not go through or say hello, preferring to wait. If they do not know she is there, they will be their other selves, the ones that worry more, that hint at secrets.

      As usual, her Uncle Harm does the talking while her father potters, bringing order to a space bent on chaos. ‘You know, a messenger from the Lenses came again today. They wanted to know if everything was alright here. I told him things were nice and quiet. All the usual questions but something felt different this time. He was agitated, kept scratching at something. I almost asked him in for a drink. Poor man seemed exhausted with stress. I suppose they all are up there. Of course, he wouldn’t tell me anything.’

      A soft whirring begins. Her father must be Bondcleaning the surfaces.

      ‘I’m sure,’ Harm continues, ‘if you went and spoke with them yourself, I’m sure we could find out more. They’re only here for you, after all.’

      The cleaning device is clicked to a higher setting and the whirring gets louder, irritating. Vesper takes another deep breath and edges closer, daring a peek into the kitchen.

      Her Uncle Harm sits in the good chair, steam curling from the mug in his lap. He raises his voice, managing to keep the tone gentle. ‘I know you’ve made up your mind about this but it wouldn’t hurt to know what’s going on. Please, go and talk to them? It would put my mind at rest. And can you come over here? I hate talking to you when you’re far away.’

      The whirring of the machine slows, becomes irregular, stops. Broad shoulders sag. Vesper retreats a step as her father turns and limps across the kitchen. His hair grows long now. Vesper has spent many evenings watching Uncle Harm brush the long brown-grey strands. Even so, it does not hide the scars running through the hairline. Apparently, these could be fixed, just like the missing teeth and the scarred leg, but her father always refuses any offers of surgery. Harm says he’s as stubborn as the goat, which makes her father smile. But he never changes his mind.

      Vesper likes the scars. They’re proof of a different life. When her father was the heroic knight that her Uncle talks about, not this tired man who frowns too much.

      Her father stops by the chair, leans on it, stoops forward. Harm’s hands fumble their way upwards, searching for his face.

      ‘There you are.’ Fingers brush features: a chin that needs shaving, crow’s feet deepening around the eyes. They find lines furrowing the forehead and smooth them away. ‘They know you’re not going to fight again. Nobody’s expecting you to. But I think we should at least know what’s going on, just in case.’

      Soothing hands are taken in callused ones. The two stand peaceably, enjoying the moment.

      As usual, Harm is the first to speak into it. ‘I hear things. From the people who bring us offerings. There aren’t so many as there used to be but some still come. Apparently, Sonorous has declared independence and the First has recognised them. There’s been no official response from the Empire yet but either way it won’t be good. And have you heard about what’s going on in the south? There’s a rumour that—’

      Hands break apart. Amber eyes fix on the doorway. Vesper is caught in their glare. She smiles quickly, and goes in, clearing her throat. ‘What rumour is that, Uncle?’

      ‘Ah, Vesper,’ comes the bright-voiced reply, ‘it’s just gossip, nothing important. How’s the goat?’

      ‘She’s getting worse. Didn’t even bother with this one. It would’ve died for sure if I hadn’t been there.’

      ‘That’s the third you’ve saved now, isn’t it?’

      ‘The fifth, actually. But each time, she’s doing less.’

      ‘If I was her age, I doubt I’d be much better.’

      ‘How old is she, Uncle?’

      Spontaneously, both men smile. ‘We’ve got no idea. But old. If she were human, she would be long past having babies, that’s for certain.’

      ‘Well, she’s having them but she’s not feeding them. I need to get a bottle.’

      ‘Go ahead.’

      Hands ruffle her hair as she goes past. She feels her father watching her, and moves quickly. In her haste she fumbles the teat, dropping it. ‘Any news from the City?

      ‘Why do you ask?’

      She crouches down to collect the teat. ‘I … thought I saw someone come to the house.’

      ‘It’s true, we did have a visitor. And they did come from the City.’

      ‘What did they say?’

      ‘Not much.’

      ‘But they must have said something.’

      ‘You know what it’s like, there’s always something going on –’ Harm hears her excited intake of breath ‘– but nothing for us to worry about,’ he adds quickly.

      ‘Oh.’

      Getting nowhere, as always, she collects the teat from the floor and leaves.

      Fed and full, the kid goes to sleep in Vesper’s arms.

      She sits on the front step, enjoying the warm weight of him until her own belly demands attention. The kid grumbles as she puts him down but doesn’t wake. Vesper lets out a relieved breath and creeps into the house, her mind already busy conjuring images, succulent and mouth-watering.

      Out of habit she listens at the kitchen door, hearing nothing but the sound of soft snoring. A peek reveals Uncle Harm slumped in a chair, enjoying his afternoon nap.

      The snores continue, undisturbed by clinking cutlery and enthusiastic consumption.

      As she leaves the kitchen, she hears a noise coming from the storeroom and freezes. The door is open a crack but not enough to see what’s inside. Curiosity and fear briefly battle within her. She hears another noise, a soft scuffing sound that she cannot identify. Whoever is inside is moving carefully, stealthily.

      It must be her father. She wonders what he is up to and reaches out to push at the door, praying that it won’t creak. Experience has taught her that if she wants the truth, it is better to look for it herself than to ask questions. The gap widens slowly, half-inch by half-inch.

      When she sees inside, her eyes widen considerably faster.

      He stands with his back to her, fists trembling at his sides. A low humming sounds near his feet, like a hornet, angry.

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