A Dingy Dwelling
“It’s….”
“Dusty.” Perdy laughed, and it was a beautiful thing to hear.
I shut my mouth with a snap. “Dusty? Is that what we’re going with?”
“Well, it’s….”
We looked at it for another moment in awe. Layers upon layers of ivy covered the whole thing, so that only the corners showed any sign of what they were made of. There, the granite foundation, and the timber and daub above it, seemed intact. But who could say for the rest of it? The door was somewhere under that tangle of ivy, and hopefully windows too. It was hard to get a decent look from a distance because the whole place was surrounded by shrubs and trees, but it seemed like a stout little home.
At the far corner, an ancient walnut tree full of dark green leaves shaded most of the backyard and kept it protected from the encroaching thornbushes. A large branch had broken off and hung by the skin through a corner of the roof into the building itself.
“That’s a problem.” Perdy glared at the same hole I’d noticed.
“If that’s the only problem, you can still be quite happy. Dare we try to find a way in?”
Smiling, we approached where the logical front of the building would be and thrust our hands under the ivy, looking for any sign of a door.
“You go left, I’ll go right.”
We made our way slowly across the face of the house, grateful that it was still small enough that the search wouldn’t take long. I was even more grateful that I got to be there for her through it, and though she wasn’t looking at me, I sent Perdy a warm smile.
She called out first. “I found someth— Oh, no, wait. It’s a shuttered window. Never mind.”
“Wait there where you are.”
I went over to her and slipped my knife out of my boot.
“Cut off as many of the vines as you can with this, then see if you can wiggle the shutter open. Don’t injure yourself, take it slowly.”
I left her to her task and went back to my search. Eventually, my fingers touched what felt like a wooden edge of something. I followed it down and found that it extended all the way to the floor. The vines covering it were tough, but yanking them out by hand wasn’t impossible. I took off my apron and wrapped it around my aching palms and was making good progress when I heard Perdy call out.
“It’s clear, but I can’t get it to open.”
“Do you have a kerchief?”
“Yes, the one around my neck. Why?”
“Wrap the blade in it as well as you can so that you don’t cut yourself, then smack the hinge with the handle a couple of times. Don’t worry about being rough with it, it’s better to have a broken shutter than walk into a dark room.”
Silently, she did as I asked. Every time a clanging noise echoed off the rusty hinges, I flinched a little, even though I fully expected it. The hinge groaned and creaked as she wiggled it, but didn’t release its hold. I let her keep trying, pretending to fuss over a stubborn vine while keeping an eye on her.
She studied the shutter for a moment. When she glanced at me, I appeared deeply engrossed in my work. She set to it again, this time tapping the end of the moving part lightly, rapidly. Rust fell off in flakes and her brow furrowed. When next she tried it, the shutter groaned but slipped out of its latch a little. A minute later, sweaty and covered in crimson specks, she let out a resounding, satisfied whoop.
“I’ve got it!”
“Good job! Can you see inside?”
I rushed to her, and we pulled the wooden storm shutters open, yanking free the last of the ivy. We both had the curiosity to press our noses to the glass, and we both withdrew just as quickly when we got a face full of cobwebs.
“Can’t see a thing in there, anyway. The window is greasy. Help me free the door instead?”
We made short work of what was left. She returned my knife and pulled out a rusty key that seemed to molt an infinite quantity of earthy red flakes.
“Here goes nothing.”
The door squeaked open into a large room, sparsely furnished with a table and some chairs, covered in cobwebs and dust but otherwise well-preserved. There were small animal bones in the corner and a few steps down to a sunken fireplace on the far end, which I dearly hoped would still work.
I noticed Perdy gaze into the fireplace, lost in thought.
“Well, there’s not much that hard work can’t set straight here.”
“I don’t remember any of this. It’s silly, I don’t know why I would. But still, some part of me thought that maybe it would mean something to me.”
“Do you need a moment alone?”
She took a deep breath. “I need a cup of tea and some lunch. I have some things. Want to see if we can start a fire?”
“In there? You must be faint with hunger if you think that chimney will work without being thoroughly cleaned first. We’d need hours.”
She pursed her lips and let out a little huff.
I had a sudden thought and asked her to follow me. We each grabbed a chair and went out to where the clear grassy area stood beneath the walnut tree. I showed her a nice spot of dirt not too near the house.
“I can set us up a firepit here in no time. Let’s get the table out too. We’ll need a place to rest when we take breaks from cleaning. And we can have tea and lunch out here. It’s a bit cool, but a beautiful day.” Realizing I was giving her instructions in her own house, I quickly adjusted. “That is, if you’d like.”
She only grinned and nodded. “That sounds like the nicest thing I’ve heard all week. You’re making it feel more like a home already.”
I sent her out to gather twigs and sticks while I scooped out dirt and lined the pit with nearby rocks. When that was done, I set to building a fire and asked her to find any pot or kettle in the house. She came back with an iron teakettle and a copper cauldron.
Not long after, we were sitting at the table under the shade of the mighty walnut, well warmed by the fire. She had tea leaves in her pouch and there was a mint bush nearby, so we brewed a spicy and refreshing drink.
I read her future in my cards for her amusement, then told her about the myriad uses for the various parts of the walnut tree, the way my grandmother once told me. It was comforting to be near one again. We ate some of my bread and cheese, and some of her auntie’s smoked pilchards, which tasted vile, and I had to hold my breath to eat.
When she finally broke our comfortable silence, it was with an offhand tone but piercing eyes.
“How much did you understand of what happened with Father Roman?”
“None of it. I can’t even guess. Do you know what happened? Does anyone?”
She chewed on a bit of fish, not looking dreadfully eager to tell me. “This town has secrets that outsiders aren’t supposed to know about. I think it has secrets that even insiders aren’t.”
“Don’t we all?”
“What do you mean?” Much more curious and animated than before, she leaned forward over the table to better hear me.
I guessed listening came more naturally to her than talking, so I talked. “I have secrets too. I came here because I was running. I needed some place to hide. Nobody knows where I am, I think. I hope.”
“What were you running from?”
“My family, my friends, my village. A terrible man who turned all that into poison for me.”
“What happened?”
I didn’t want to tell her everything. I didn’t want to hide it all either. “I made a mistake. I was stupid and thought that as long as I had good intentions, I’d be fine. I felt needed, and my vanity made me throw all caution to the wind for the sake of that feeling. It cost me the love of my friends and family, my home, and almost my life.”
She seemed saddened. “I want to believe intentions count for something. I can’t imagine you being thoughtless.”
“Everyone is wrong sooner or later, Perdy. You know that, by now. Even good people, and most of us aren’t that.”
“So they chased you away for a mistake?”
“Maybe I’m their mistake. If I get to have one, so does everyone else. Maybe even more so, because I’d caused the whole thing myself. They never asked to be involved.”
She thought about it for a few seconds. “Do places get the same right as people to make mistakes?”
“I don’t see why not. In the end, a place is more people. If anything, it should get more chances to.”
“So you don’t think there’s such a thing as an evil place?”
“Well, now. I didn’t say that.”
The sun was high and bright as we put everything away and returned to work.
* * *
The fallen walnut branch poked a hole through the roof of the bedroom, which was ruined beyond all hope. We took the branch, shut the door on that bit of trouble, and promised to return another day. It would be much more comfortable to sleep in the main room, by the fire, anyway.
The final room was a small cupboard full of pots and pans, rusty tools, bags, and various knickknacks. The wood backing of the cupboard gave me pause. It was just the sort of place people would hide all sorts of things.
“Do you –” I almost asked her if she remembered a secret compartment but caught myself in time, “– mind helping me search this?”
She gave me a quizzical look.
“The room is shallower than the building, and this…” I knocked on the panel, “…sounds hollow.”
After rolling up our sleeves, we pushed and prodded on the boards until one gave way. It wasn’t even a door; the planks were simply jammed in place to create a fake back wall. Moving them revealed a far more spacious chamber than I’d anticipated.
Perdy shouldered her way in first. I heard her gasp, then cough violently. The boards clacked together as she stumbled out, chased by a cloud of charcoal dust. I let it settle for a moment and peeked inside to find a lonely white skeleton in a small dark chamber.
I stepped in and took a closer look. The skeleton sat in a perfect circle of white salt crystals about the size of coarse sand.
It was a curious thing; the tiny frame belonged to a child who couldn’t have been older than ten, but the teeth seemed those of someone much older. Strange bumps rose at the crest of the skull too, almost like walnuts encased in bone. It was hard to count the crumbled ribs, but there seemed to be far too many. All in all, the effect was rather odd and otherworldly.
There was a cloth pouch on its sternum. I reached down, doing my very best not to disturb the bones in any way, and lifted it from the remains. Inside, a silver ring on a solid chain sparkled brightly.
“Perdy, do you know who it might have been?”
“No.” She peered inside over my shoulder. “But whoever it is, it doesn’t look like the salt protected them the way it should.”
“Protected them?”
“From Whispers. They shouldn’t be able to cross it.”
“Maybe it did.”
“What do you mean?”
“Maybe they stayed in there, safe, until they died.” We stood in silence for a moment. “I’ll not disturb it for now. We can ask around in town, someone has to know.”
The pale skull stared off into nothingness.
“Do you want this ring?” I showed it to her, hoping to see some sort of recognition or reaction.
“Why would I?”
“It might have belonged to your family.”
“It could also be someone who used the house after we were gone. No, I don’t feel right taking it.” She shook her head, then settled on an explanation with a nod. “Besides, if it’s silver it should be put to good use. You should take it to the Wardens’ Warren.”
“All right, we can do that tomorrow.” I wished I could do something more for her. “Just know I’m happy to give it to you if you change your mind.”
We replaced the boards just as we found them. Perdy murmured a few words in singsong, something I guessed must have been a prayer for the dead in words foreign to me, and we went back to work.
Cleaning went easily between four hands. We used the branch to sweep most of the dust and dirt out, got rid of the stray animal bones and cobwebs and opened all the windows. Then I climbed up onto the roof using a rain collection barrel we found behind the house, lowered a rope down through the chimney, and had Perdy tie the bottom to our walnut branch. I then pulled the branch up through the chimney, brushing the sides and letting all the soot and grime fall back down.
Needless to say, more sweeping followed.
We sat together on the stone steps in front of the fireplace, working on sorting and cleaning the more useful tools and pots we’d found in the house, when she broke the silence again.
“I don’t know if there’s any place like this in the world. I can only hope there isn’t.”
“Because of the Tides?”
“The Tides are like sneezing when you catch a chill. They’re awful, but not the root of the problem. Nor is the Unspoken, dangerous as it is. The problem is that the town isn’t doing well, and the worse it does, the more it’ll meddle and try to control the uncontrollable.”
I didn’t understand, but she was doing her best, so I let her speak on.
“Sometimes I worry that if the town makes more mistakes around the Unspoken, it’ll be like children playing with matches near a gunpowder barrel. Neither is dangerous by itself, but the closeness of the two….”
“Is that what happened to Reverend Andrei?”
“I’m not sure.” She bit on the edge of her thumbnail. “He didn’t tell us what he was up to. We weren’t supposed to know.”
“Paul knew, though, didn’t he?”
“Not everything, but I think Father Andrei was negotiating. Paul always talked about how he’d change things. Put them back the way they were.”
“How were they?”
She shrugged. “I guess there used to be more co-operation between the two sides. More stability. I think they’re delusional to believe it didn’t come with costs.” Her tone was almost petulant.
“The reverend seemed like a good person. Like he wanted peace and prosperity for everyone. Those beautiful paintings on the glass, they were Whisper landscapes?”
She nodded. “He just wanted everyone to be safe. It’s true.”
“It doesn’t look like that’s in the cards right now.”
“There are all sorts of charms, wards, and rituals that help a little. Like the stone wall that we riddled with salt rocks. It’d be chaos without them. Hey, you know what? Let me teach you an unsong. Maybe it’ll help, someday.”
“I’d love that. I’d been wondering what they are.”
“You’re staying, right? I don’t just mean for dinner, I mean here in the house with me? The unsong will work better if you do.” She grabbed my hands, eyes filled with hope.
I couldn’t put off deciding any longer. “I want to. Just for a little while. But are you sure?”
“That’s settled, then.”
She grinned and, without another word, rose and moved to the fireplace. I followed, and she positioned us on either side of it.
“We can start here, then unsing the rest of the house when we have time. Unsongs are like prayers, except they’re of the natural world. I learned this one from Alina, the smith’s wife. Repeat after me.”
She took a deep breath, then started her rhythmic chant that wasn’t quite sung and wasn’t quite spoken, pausing after every line to give me time to repeat it.
“Little fire, roaring fire,
I’ll lie down and fall asleep,
Don’t you lie and don’t you sleep.
Turn into a dragon with scales of gold,
With ninety-nine wings, with ninety-nine tongues,
With ninety-nine scraping claws.
Rise up like the day and burn evil away.
Rise up like the sun until evil is gone.”
I couldn’t tell whether it was only the effects of the lovely day, or something more than that, but I certainly felt more peaceful than I had in a while. We finished the unsong, and I sat on the steps to quickly scribble it in my journal while Perdy went on dusting the furniture, muttering here and there, singing to the chairs and stones and spoons.