 
### Defective

A novella

By Sharon Boddy

Published at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition License Notes

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Published by Boddy Language

Copyright ©2015 Sharon Boddy

ISBN: 978-0-9948880-0-6
Table of Contents

Winter

Summer

Autumn

Winter

Spring

Summer

Autumn

About the Author

Acknowledgements

The Children

Porkchop, 18

Santa, 17

Titania, 16

Forest, 14

Narrow, 12

Bull, 11

Jones, 7

Jelly, 7

Mixer, 18 months

The Adults

Ma

Pa

The Landlord

PC Pierre

Pater

Rank

Gaines

Mrs. Nibbs

Marvellous

Mrs. Baker
Selected sources from the reference library of PC Pierre (P), Deloran County

Reference Code: G32

Title: The Upheaval's Geologic Legacy, Arthur Pawli, pub. 2417

See summary by PC Pierre (P), Deloran County, 5.45.22

P3: First came the vibrations, like something large and heavy falling close by. The vibrations would have grown stronger and stronger within minutes or hours and the ground would have begun to shake. Buildings and infrastructure collapsed, roads were buried. Presumably, many of the old countries' populations were drowned by buckling rivers, lakes and oceans; in other places, mountains shook apart, firing bits into the air. Whole populations — human, animal, insect, bird, plant — were obliterated in less than a day along with many important cultural and historical artifacts, now lost to time.

Reference Code: M3

Title: Human Reactions to Long-term Infection Exposure, Drs. Winj, P., Estelle, F., Kathra, R., pub. 2478

See summary by PC Pierre (P), Deloran County, 11.27.22

P114: In conclusion, it is not possible to isolate the genetic components of the defect, previously linked to contaminants unleashed during the Upheaval. Data suggests that the infection itself, which is no longer fatal, recurs every thirty to forty years and with each reoccurrence, the defective gene mutates; however, no two genes studied to date follow the same mutation pattern. The defect also occurs in non-infection years but there has been a marked decline in the number of reported cases in the last twenty years. This could suggest that its lessening appearance in new births is a signal that both the infection and the mutation are waning, or that social or other factors, such as non-reporting behaviours are involved, which are outside the scope of this study. The majority of the defects that do appear are minor in nature.

Reference Code: PR402

Police Crime Summary Report, Dated: 12.33.42

Reporting Officer: PC Marsellum Peach

Prisoner Name: Martha New

Prisoner Number: F89

Residence: Ferguston, Deloran County

Charge: Infanticide; blunt force trauma. Prisoner claims her new born son was defective and attacked her. CX: Confession.

Reference Code: PR433

Police Crime Summary Report, Dated: 1.4.43

Reporting Officer: PC Marsellum Peach

Prisoner Number: F89

Notes: Prisoner held in the local till weather clears and can be transferred to Andrastyne.

Reference Code: PR437

Police Crime Summary Report, Dated: 1.7.43

Reporting Officer: PC Marsellum Peach

Prisoner Number: F89

Notes: Prisoner found dead in cell by hanging. Burial arranged. CX: Morgue.

Winter

The first thing Mixer knew with certainty was that he was hungry. The feeling grew more intense each day until it became unbearable and Mixer began to lash out. Quietly, steadily he ate away at his enemy and, in a few weeks, where there had been two, now there was only one.

Summer

"There's something wrong with Mixer," Ma said one night in bed.

"There's something wrong with all our kids," Pa yawned. He rolled over and looked at his wife. She looked serious. And old. They kept their voices low; the children slept above them in the loft.

"This is different." Ma sat up. "Maybe it's what you said, that it was twins."

Ma had been nervous most of her pregnancy with Mixer, the youngest and ninth of her and Pa's kids. Ma said the number nine was bad luck. Nothing good comes from nines, she would say. Ma said a lot of things like that and Pa had learned to ignore most of them.

When she was five months pregnant, Pa listened to her belly and pronounced twins. Ma wasn't so sure, but Pa had some experience with this, he said, pointing to Jelly and Jones, their twins. Ma kept her thoughts to herself. Either way, she thought, twins or a single, this'll be the last one. She'd finally perfected the recipe that would see to that. When Ma's labour was over, however, only Mixer had shown up. Pa poked around up there for a bit, perplexed by the absence of infant. He had distinctly heard two heartbeats.

Pa sat up. The moon waned in the sky outside their window.

"Different how?"

Each of their children possessed at least one defect, although Pa never used that word. He called them talents. Ma knew them for what they were: trouble. Anyone different, anyone who could do something others couldn't was shunned or worse. She and her mother and father had been kicked out of so many towns when she was a child she couldn't remember half their names.

Her father had been a painter but despite his best efforts to keep his defect under control, his work on barns, houses and fences stood out. Designs within the paint would appear, faint at first, the outline of things: trees, women, or the sky at night. The paintings would then take on deeper lines and colours would appear and disappear. Her mother had been a healer and had taught her daughter what she knew of medicine. She would try to help people but they were afraid of her. They would always be found out and run out of town; sometimes they were beaten. They moved from place to place and her parents waited until Ma turned twenty and then left her in Battery. Alone, they thought, she'd stand a better chance.

She went to work for the Landlord of Battery, part of a group of young men and women hired at slave wages to work a pearl apple orchard after the former owner died. There she met and married her husband and started having his children. Within a year all the other workers had gone; the two of them and their growing family had worked the land ever since.

Her defect was the ability to see under the earth. She knew what a plant's root system looked like without ever needing to dig it out. In the early years at the orchard she often saw things buried among the trees or near the barn but if she did dig them up, she did it at night when the children and Hap were asleep. She never told anyone about it. Some things, like the skeletal remains of a baby buried in the wild rose bush behind the shed, were best left as they were.

She had been raised to hate and fear herself and others like her, but most of all to be afraid of being found out. She couldn't turn back time but she could make life easier for her children. She could give them a stable home, keep them safe and protected; few people knew they were here. She taught them, ruthlessly at times, not to display their talents, not even to each other. The children were only allowed to use them for orchard work or when specifically told to.

Their eldest, Porkchop was able to see the minutiae of her surroundings at a glance. She could spot the first sign of life or blight. Her memory was astonishing and in terms of her daily duties Porkchop's mind inevitably ran far ahead of everyone else's. Ma sometimes suspected that Porkchop knew more about how to run the orchard than she did but her oldest child, besides being sensible and obedient to a fault, never contradicted any of Ma's decisions.

Forest could predict the weather. Since he was a baby Forest had been fascinated by insects and plants and water and how they behaved in different types of weather. He'd studied their habits and learned that nature could tell him everything he needed to know so long as he listened and observed. Forest also had an innate sense of the seasons, how they would unfold, and what challenges they would bring. He was indispensable in scheduling some of the most important orchard tasks.

Ma hated Santa's talent because she feared what could happen to her if people found out. Santa could sing. Musicians and singers and artists were among the most hated of defectives. They didn't do anything useful or productive; they didn't grow food or catch fish or trap animals. They didn't fell timber or plant trees; they didn't build things or fix things.

Bull had always been large for his age. He could track even the smallest game from miles away. Ma believed that her son's keen sense of smell came from her being bitten by a stray dog when she was pregnant with him. It wasn't unusual for feral curs to stray onto the property in those days. Their numbers dropped dramatically after they began feasting too much on the local deer population and the Landlord thought it would be both fun and useful to institute a dog-killing contest. The tenant farmer who killed the most dogs got double his salary for the month. Pa never won. The contest ran for six years until the dogs had been almost wiped out.

Narrow was worse than her husband for taking things apart but, unlike her husband, her middle child put things back together again. When he was about nine months old he woke up the household taking apart his crib. The slats had given way and he'd gone straight down, landing on his bottom. When Pa brought his tool box to fix the crib the next day, Narrow had crawled over to the box, rummaged for a moment and brought out a screwdriver. Narrow could almost always fix or build or create anything with whatever resources were available.

Titania was Ma's special daughter.

Twins were sometimes considered defective simply because they were twins. Most people did accept that twins existed naturally in nature, but identical girl-boy twins, like Jelly and Jones, were unusual and therefore highly suspicious. They were so alike that it wasn't until their hair began to grow that Ma began to cut her son's but not her daughter's hair so that she could tell them apart.

Jones never learned to crawl. One day, as he sat cross legged on the floor of the press house he had hopped across the room. Ma had been standing at the pressers, enormous square wooden boxes with tight wire mesh-topped lids that were pressed down onto the pearl apple mash. The juice flowed through the boxes into a trough that was connected to a pipe to the fermentation vat. She thought she had closed the press house door but she'd suddenly felt a breeze by her ankles. She looked around and found Jones in one corner, gnawing on his thumbnail. He hopped back to where he'd been. She'd seen a blur across her vision and her son then reappear on the other side of the room.

Jelly had learned to talk early. At six months she was able to tell her mother, in a few words, what she needed, a diaper change or food. Her defect deepened the day she found a plastic bag caught in one of the pearl apple trees in the orchard. The bags were useful things if they didn't have many holes in them, but their numbers had dwindled with each passing year.

Ma was teaching Jelly to forage for medicinal and edible plants and had taken the four-year old into the woods one autumn day for another lesson. Jelly had the right temperament for it. Patient. Observant. Curious.

On their return home, the press house and barns in the distance, Jelly caught sight of the bag. She carefully untangled it and smoothed it out on the ground.

"Made in China," she said.

"Stop messing about with that," said Ma impatiently. She needed to start supper; needed to make sure that Santa started supper.

Jelly continued to study the bag. It had a line of black marks on it.

"That's what it says. Made in China."

Ma grabbed her by the arm and hauled her through the orchard and home. Jelly held onto the bag the entire way and by the time they arrived at the house Ma was fuming. She barked an order for Santa to get dinner started. Santa, who was already cutting up potatoes and carrots and parsnips, looked up, saw her mother's expression, and ducked her head back down to her task.

Ma grabbed a short pearl apple switch from its hook on the wall, put Jelly over her knee and gave her four sharp whacks. She had beaten all of her children this way, starting from a young age. She used it to remind them not to show off; she believed it would make them as strong and resilient as the trees they tended.

After they'd eaten supper, Jelly started to talk about the bag again. Ma reached for the switch but Pa interrupted.

"What's that?"

"It talks to me," Jelly said, taking the neatly folded bag from her pocket. "Made in China." She pointed to a line on the bag. "Fifteen per cent post consumer plastic."

"What's China?" Narrow asked.

Ma and Pa ignored him.

Pa sat back and scratched his chin. He knew it was writing but he couldn't understand how Jelly could read it. He recognized some words, mostly place names that others had pointed out to him: Piggy Gristle, Hap Road, Battery, Delora.

Ma couldn't read at all and so the children hadn't been taught. She'd taught them basic math — the weights and measures they needed to know for orchard work — but Ma thought that reading was a waste of time when their job was to tend trees.

Pa's gaze fell on the wood stove.

"What does that say?" Pa asked, pointing to the line of raised black marks over the door of the stove.

Jelly took a few steps closer. "McIntosh Foundry. Patent Pending. 1872."

"And that?" Pa pointed to an apple crate.

"Prince Edward Island Potatoes."

Ma snorted. "How do you know that?"

"They talk to me," said Jelly. "They tell me what they are. In my head."

"Make sense, girl, or I'll get the switch again."

As Jelly scrunched her eyes closed in concentration, Pa got up from the table and disappeared out the door. When Jelly opened her eyes she smiled. She pointed to her cleaned plate.

"What's that?" she asked Ma.

"You mean the plate?"

"How do you know it's a plate?"

"Because..." A look of confusion passed over Ma's face. "Because it just is."

"That's it. It just is. That's how I know."

Pa returned with two items in his hands. He handed them to Jelly.

" _How to Grow and Care for Fruit Trees_ and _Making Hard Ciders_ ," she read out loud.

For the next several weeks, whenever Jelly and Pa were together, he'd ask her to read out what the books said. Over the next three years the Landlord noticed not only an increase in the apple harvest but a vast improvement in the quality of the cider.

"It's hard to explain," Ma now said.

She looked out at the moon. Mixer wasn't even a year old, yet he was more disobedient than any of her other children. He had deliberately defied her the other day. He had looked at her the whole time he was climbing the ladder up to the vat. None of the children were allowed near the vat.

She'd run across the room, grabbed him around the waist, ripped him from the ladder then stood him up and thumped him hard twice across his diaper. Mixer squealed and wriggled from her grasp, crawling fast for the open press house door. Ma's hand felt numb, soon it began to feel hot. She looked down at her palm. It was bright red, the red of an overripe pearl apple. It itched and swelled and she had to soak it in cold water for several minutes before it returned to normal. She was drying her hand when Mixer reappeared at the press house door. He looked at her. He looked at her hand.

"Try," Pa said.

"It's been a while since we had a baby in the house. Maybe I've forgotten what it's like." Ma rubbed her palm.

"Well, I guess that's possible," said Pa. He yawned again.

"Go to sleep. I'm just being silly."

Ma lay down and rolled over, facing the window. The moonlight fell on her profile. She lay awake, thinking, for a long time. For a fleeting moment she thought that perhaps she was too hard on her children but then she remembered the alternative. She knew what it was like to be different.

Upstairs, the moonlight also fell on Mixer's face; his eyes were open.

Ma continued to beat her other children whenever they disobeyed her, but whether Mixer deserved it or not, she never laid a hand on him again.

___

It wasn't just Ma who had misgivings about Mixer. One night when he'd gotten up to use the outhouse, Forest had caught his then two-month old brother standing up in the crib beside his parents' bed, looking out the window and waggling his fingers as the wind lashed at the pearl apple trees. In the morning Forest decided he'd dreamed it but after that night whenever he looked at his brother he felt uneasy.

Porkchop disliked Mixer but couldn't say why. Whenever she held him she didn't feel love or affection as she did for her other sisters and brothers, only anxious to be away from him. Porkchop had noticed that Bull always seemed to wrinkle his nose whenever he was near him and that Jelly and Jones avoided him entirely whenever they could.

Only Santa truly enjoyed being around him. He would throw his pudgy arms around her neck and hang on, sometimes for hours. She put him in a sling when she worked in the orchard or in the press house so that he could be close to her. If Ma wasn't around, she would hum and sing softly to him. She had songs for all sorts of things; songs about food and how good it was for him, songs about safety, and songs for when he was too sleepy to go to sleep.

He was almost two and hadn't yet learned to walk. Narrow had tried to teach him but Mixer was uncooperative and Narrow had eventually given up. He could crawl but preferred to be carried. Mixer was big all over with large blue eyes, a wide nose and a square jaw, but his largest feature was his enormous rear end. Whenever he tried to stand he would wobble a little then topple over. He didn't talk; what sounds he did make were unintelligible grunts and moans. His family, even Santa, shrugged and called him a slow learner.

___

The second thing Mixer knew with certainty was that he wanted what the Landlord had: power over the land and power over the people on it.

___

Mixer learned at an astonishing rate. He knew the orchard's schedule and every role and task in it. He knew the value of each member of the family.

He knew that any one of his siblings would protect him at any cost; that was how they'd been raised by Ma and they obeyed her. Obedience was a trait he was already putting to good use; he liked being carried from place to place. Pa was useless; a lazy drunk who would be lost without Ma. There was no need to keep him around. Ma was managed for now but Mixer knew that was only a matter of time. She was one of them; she'd figure it out eventually.

Mixer didn't need to worry about many others. Very few people ever came to the orchard. Every now and again a wagon driver would deliver supplies from the Landlord and there were the semi-regular visits from the Constable, PC Pierre, who came by as part of his rounds or to bring Pa home. He seemed to like the family and that could be useful, too.

The Landlord fascinated Mixer. The Landlord owned the orchard and much of the land surrounding it. Mixer studied how he commanded Ma and Pa and the others to do his bidding, even when he wasn't physically there to tell them. He was a vulgar, ugly man but wealthy and imposing so he could do as he pleased. He smelled of soap and leather and, sometimes, his mother. This had puzzled Mixer at first. Until he'd learned the Landlord's schedule.

On days that he picked up his cider, while Pa and the others loaded kegs of cider and crates of apples into the wagon, the Landlord would settle up with Ma. Settling up meant balancing what the Landlord provided — room, board and a small garden plot — against the family's labour. The Landlord always took some change.

Autumn

Ma and Pa died on the same day.

Pa was swarmed by a band of Pharaoh's bees. He ran about trying to shake them off but they stung his fleshy upper cheeks and soon the skin had swelled so much he couldn't see where he was going. He ran and ran; the bees followed. Ma and the children ran after him, saw him run up towards the cliff that overhung the valley, saw him fall over the edge to the rocks below. Ma, running in front, had held her children back from the cliff's edge. She held onto the skinny pine tree that hung over the valley and looked down. She shook her head and led them back home.

Ma drowned later that day in a vat of cider rescuing Mixer. All their lives Ma had warned the children not to go near the enormous fermentation vat, for any reason. Ma spotted Mixer crawling along the top of it.

The lip of the vat was slippery and, with a small sploosh, Mixer was in. Ma tore up the ladder, jumped in and flung her son up and over the side. He landed on his well-padded bottom and crawled away, shaking his head back and forth, flicking cider everywhere and licking his thick red lips. The steel vat was three-quarters full and the inner sides were slick with a soapy combination of pearl apple residue, yeast, sugar and water. It was too slippery for Ma to get hold of the sides and she couldn't swim.

Porkchop could have opened the valve at the bottom and drained the vat but Mixer silently reminded her that the Landlord would be coming soon for his cider. Ma and Pa always said the cider came first. Then there was Ma, who was a stickler for the rules. Listening to her cries for help, Porkchop quietly ordered her siblings to their daily chores.

Santa found Mixer in the herb garden, digging in the dirt. She scooped him up and held him tightly in her arms.

___

Two days later the Landlord came to collect his final batch of cider for the year. He rode his wagon into the barnyard. Porkchop was sitting in the open door of the press house oiling clippers when he arrived. The others were all out in the orchard, at Porkchop's order, pruning the trees, mulching and raking, picking up any stray apples they'd missed. They did these things every fall. She didn't see why this year should be any different.

"Where's my cider?" he boomed at Porkchop.

She explained what had happened. He was quiet for a moment, looking at the girl. Almost a woman, he thought. She was looking at her boots and he could barely see her face. What he could see was half covered in the flat brown hair that flopped over her eyes.

"That still doesn't answer my question," he said. "Where's my cider?"

"It's still in the vat."

The Landlord considered this and decided that the cider would still be okay. She couldn't have been in there that long before one of them had fished her out, he thought. Besides, the drunks at the Piggy Gristle would never know the difference.

"Why haven't you kegged it? C'mon then. Get your brothers and sisters in here and start working. I'll wait if I have to."

The mother might be gone, he thought, but this one'll do.

"We're not allowed near the vat," Porkchop told him.

"Then how did you get your mother out?"

Porkchop lifted her head and her hair fell away from her eyes. She didn't say anything. The Landlord's face became very white. He left in a hurry, driving his horses at top speed back to Battery where he ordered PC Pierre to deal with the situation.

___

Two days later, after the Constable had updated him about the orchard, the Landlord sat in his office, fuming over his lost profits.

"For obvious reasons, I dumped the cider," PC Pierre had told him.

The last batch of the year was always the sweetest. His patrons would never have known and surely the alcohol would have killed off any diseases the woman had had.

The Landlord wasn't happy to lose his best pressers. They'd been a good investment. At first it had only been the pair of them, newly married, working the orchard, and even though he'd been eventually forced to raise their wages to the family rate, set by the county for a maximum of two adults and two children, they kept pumping out so many kids he was getting many years' worth of free labour for the price of four. He was even legally allowed to garnish a portion of their wages by leasing them a small vegetable plot on his land. There had also been some other fringe benefits.

He was, however, relieved to be rid of their brood. Whenever he had gone to sample the early pressings or conduct surprise inspections he had always encountered the children. He avoided looking at them unless he had to. He was almost certain that some of them were defective but all of them made him nervous, even Titania. At night he dreamt of her cherubic face, blonde hair and voluptuous body but whenever he encountered her during the day she made him feel as though she were looking right through him.

He needed to hire someone to work the orchard but he didn't want another family this time or a local. That left the coastal labour auction and the next one wouldn't be held until spring.

Well, he thought, at least they'd gotten most of the work at the orchard done before the end of the year. The trees would survive the winter untended.

___

PC Pierre gently pulled his mule, Josephine, to a stop. Pater liked to lurk in the bushes near the bend in the road and jump out at people. He scanned the area then blew his whistle three times. Dealing with Pater was the more pleasant of the tasks that had been set before him. His first had been to recover the children's mother from the vat.

He'd emptied the vat first. The rotted, sweet smell was so pungent that he'd left the press house while the liquid gurgled out of it into the old metal drains below and from there to the reed beds that lined the roads.

Porkchop had taken the children far into the orchard and he could see them sitting in a circle on the ground surrounded by the trees. Weeks ago, the children had picked the last of the pearl apples, named for the lustrous pink-silver-white flesh that lurked inside the small, red fruit. The bare limbs of the squat, gnarled trees stood stark against the grey sky.

When the vat was empty, he'd covered his uniform with his canvas coat and tied a kerchief around his nose and mouth. He lowered the rope ladder into the vat and climbed down. Her bloated body was slippery and he had some trouble picking her up at first, but eventually he crouched down and was able to slide her up and over his shoulders. He stood and carefully climbed back up. He balanced her at the waist over the top of the vat, climbed out and went to get the cart. He gently laid their mother in the back and covered her with a blanket. Porkchop saw him do it, turned and told her siblings to stay put then started towards him.

"Ma wouldn't want to be buried here," she said, coming up to him. "She hated it here."

By law the Constable was supposed to bury her in the county site in Battery but he felt a responsibility.

"I'll find a nice spot," he told her. "I'll be back in a few days."

He climbed into the front seat and heeyapped at Josephine. Midway between the orchard and Battery, the Constable stopped and took out a shovel. He dug a grave in the shade of a silver maple and buried their mother.

The other task had been to remove the children from the land. None of them had reached the age — Porkchop still had more than a year before she turned — and the Landlord had no legal responsibility to them.

"I don't want them in my camps," he'd said. "Take them to Andrastyne." He'd handed the Constable a piece of paper with a name and address on it. "He can find places for them."

The Constable had nodded but he also knew the law. It all rested on Pater. He'd come prepared with a cloth bag of trinkets that lay at his feet below the front seat of the mule cart.

Movement down the road caught his eye. A scrap of blue curtain in the front window swayed back in place. He heeyapped at Josephine and brought her to a halt in front of the ramshackle house. He knocked on the door and when a voice barked on the other side he very slowly and carefully opened it.

___

PC Pierre returned to the orchard three nights later. He found the children inside, eating their supper. He laid a hand on the shoulders of the two children nearest him: Forest and Jelly. He drew Porkchop outside.

"You can't stay here, now that...now that there are no adults," he told her.

Deloran County Law was clear about orphaned children, PC Pierre explained. Decades ago, there had been so many of them — left behind when their infected parents died — that the authorities had passed the law to keep them from overrunning the streets. Unless someone agreed to take the orphans or the owner of the land agreed to let them stay on, children under the age of twenty automatically became wards of the state and were sent to forestry camps, orchards and farms across the county. Most were already used to hard work and, other than the cost of a little food, they were cheap labour. Many of them died in the camps or ran away and died in the forest.

Porkchop looked down at her feet. She dreaded what the Constable would say next. There's so many of us, she thought. We have to stay together.

"But," the Constable continued, "your grandfather said he'd take you."

"Grandfather?"

"Pater, that's your grandfather. He knew that your Pa and all of you were here."

"But Pa never said anything."

"He didn't know. Pater asked me not to tell him. Told me it wasn't my place." PC Pierre looked briefly at his own feet. "He's a bit, well he can be a bit difficult. But he has about ten acres of farmland. There'll be plenty of room for all of you. And who knows? You'll be twenty in less than two years. Maybe the Landlord will take the family back on here."

Porkchop doubted that.

The Constable stayed the night so that they could get an early start the next day. When he woke up the next morning the children were already packed and ready to go. Nine rucksacks of varying sizes sat in a neat line by the press house door.

After breakfast the Constable fed and watered Josephine and harnessed her to the cart. Porkchop, with Bull and Jones, did a final inspection of the buildings, making sure that everything was in its place. Santa washed the dishes, passing them to the others, who dried them and put them back onto the kitchen shelves. Mixer sat in front of the open press house door, smacking his fist on the ground over and over.

The sun was almost up when they left.

They bumped slowly along the potholed roads. Most were gravel and dirt, but some still had a coating of black tar in places, broken off at the road sides. They said very little. Porkchop and Titania sat up front with the Constable, the younger ones in the back. Bull, Forest and Jones walked alongside the cart.

Jelly sat on her pack watching as the road slowly wound out beneath her. Her pack contained her medicine box, seeds, some small garden tools, a few pieces of clothing, and the two books that Pa had given her.

Left from the orchard. Right at Farrow Road. Straight for about an hour. Left at fork. Right at intersection.

Along the way she spotted anything with writing on it, repeating the words over and over in her mind. She recognized some old road signs, the kind that Pa used to bring home sometimes. Rectangles and octagons and triangles. Some of the triangles still had faded tinges of yellow paint on them and the outline of three black wedges in the middle.

Narrow was also silently memorizing the route. They were heading west. He would update his maps as soon as he got the chance.

Santa sat with her legs stretched out in a V, Mixer nestled between them. He looked miserable. At the start of the journey he had drawn a handful of dirt from his pocket and flung it on the bottom of the cart in front of him. He drew his fingers through it, over and over again. Santa began to hum a tuneless tune and soon Mixer fell asleep.

Josephine took an easy pace. The children had never been away from the orchard and were quiet as they studied their slowly passing surroundings. PC Pierre would occasionally interject with stories.

"Part of this area was carved out by rocks that were hurled after the explosion," the Constable said to Porkchop who sat next to him.

From the back of the cart Narrow asked, "What explosion?"

"Well, the history's not clear. From what I've been able to piece together from the records there was some kind of upheaval or explosion, a few hundred years ago. Some records say it could have been an earthquake or a meteor." He anticipated Narrow's next question. "A meteor's a big hunk of rock that flies around with the stars in space." Narrow looked up into the sky. "You've seen a shooting star, right? That's a meteor."

He explained that whatever the cause, the ground had heaved so badly that it split apart many mountains, shooting boulders in every direction.

"I'm pretty sure that's how Honey Hill got to look the way it does," he said. "I'll show you when we get a little closer."

The Constable steered Josephine along the route that hugged Spoon Valley rather than go through Battery and risk the Landlord seeing the children.

"This is Spoon Valley — "

"Is it true that it's shaped like a soup spoon?" Narrow called from the back of the cart. "Pa told us that."

"He was right."

They stopped on the road and ate a cold supper after which Bull, Forest and Jones clambered into the wagon with the rest of their brothers and sisters. All the children were now asleep, crammed up against one another in the small cart; he took the blanket from under his seat and laid it across the younger ones.

The evening was clear and bright with stars. In the woods along the roadsides the Constable caught a glimpse of glow moss. He didn't see it much anymore but every now and then a patch would pop up. It looked like ordinary water moss during the day, the kind some farmers used to retain moisture in the soil, but at night it would glow, a bright white light at first that would fade as the night progressed. He noticed that the glow was beginning to fade and urged Josephine onward.

"Just make it to the cabin, Josie. It's just a little further," he said quietly.

He had planned on breaking the trip into three legs but Forest had told him that the weather would turn sharply colder overnight. PC Pierre decided it was best to get as close to the farm as possible tonight. Josephine didn't do well in the cold.

It was morning but still dark and the north wind had picked up when he steered Josephine into the yard at the cabin. He woke up Porkchop.

"I'm sorry, there's not much room. I'll sleep in the shed with Josephine. You take the cabin. We'll get to the farm tomorrow."

Porkchop woke her siblings and they shuffled inside. It was smaller than any building they'd ever been in; even the orchard shed was bigger. Porkchop insisted that they all eat, after which the Constable left to bed down with Josephine in the shed. The cabin had only one bed, which Porkchop gave to Titania, Santa and Mixer. The rest of them slept on straw mats on the floor. Porkchop took a spot close to the fireplace and kept it smouldering for warmth through the night.

They all slept in, except for Josephine who'd been awake for hours, pacing around her stall, looking at the sleeping Constable, then out the window, then back at him. Finally, she'd had enough, walked over to him and flapped her lips in his ear; he woke with a start, his hand rising automatically to wipe off the spit.

It was cold and they could see their breath as they started on the final leg of their journey. Josephine was tired and annoyed at the cold and slowed her already slow pace.

Eventually the road turned a corner and, in the distance, Honey Hill came into view.

"Is that it?" asked Narrow, pointing. Porkchop had chosen to walk that morning beside the cart and Narrow had hopped into her empty spot.

The Constable nodded. "Yep. That's Honey Hill. Now, the interesting thing about the hill is — "

"How come it's called Honey Hill? Are there bees?"

"Honeysuckle. But yes, there's plenty of bees."

Narrow expected the Constable to continue but when he didn't he prompted him. "So...?"

"Oh so...why Honey Hill looks that way? See how there's a flat part on the left? That's the plateau." The Constable put the reins between his knees and gestured with both hands. "And then the cliff top? You can climb that but it's pretty steep. That's not natural. A boulder smashed into it. Took out the whole side."

"How do you know?"

"Remember what I told you yesterday about the explosion? It rocked the ground so badly that things started to shake apart, crack open. Whole mountains got pounded into dust. Honey Hill must have been in the way of a stray boulder. There are lots of big stones in the Valley. They had to have come from somewhere."

"I wonder what it was like."

The Constable smiled. "Probably pretty loud." Narrow laughed.

It was late afternoon when the children finally clambered down from the mule cart. Their tired eyes followed the Constable's pointed finger down the road to where it opened up into a large bowl shape.

A small wooden house stood, leaned more like, at the bottom of it. Its roof and sides were patched with a hodgepodge of corrugated aluminum and yellowed plastic siding. Wisps of smoke escaped from a skinny metal chimney that poked out of the roof. The front porch, furnished with a wooden folding chair and an oak stump with an axe embedded in it, sagged in the middle. To the right of the house was a path that led into woods; to its far left was an enormous barn, its boards weather-stained a greyish purple. In front of the house was a dilapidated stone well; part of its rounded wall had fallen in. At the back, its outer roof edge just barely visible was the outhouse.

"It's getting late and I need to get back to Battery," PC Pierre explained to Porkchop. The last pay day of the year for the local lumbermen was in four days and that meant that the Piggy Gristle would be full. That usually meant trouble.

He blew his whistle three times.

"He's expecting you."

"Thank you," said Porkchop.

"If the snows don't come too early, I'll check in when I come by this way again."

He heeyapped at Josephine who turned and started back up the road, her hips swaying with the movement of the cart, leaving the children standing by a muddy ditch filled with brewers' blooms and fuggetaboutits. They hoisted their packs over their shoulders and began the trek down the road.

Porkchop led the way, then Santa who carried Mixer in the sling, followed by Titania, Forest, Narrow, Bull, and Jelly and Jones, who walked beside each other.

Porkchop was a plain young woman, tall with long legs and a short waist. She was bosomy, like her mother, but no one would have known it by the plaid flannel shirts she wore. She looked more like a lumberman in her canvas pants and black leather lace-up boots.

Santa was shorter, plumper and more bosomy than her older sister. Ma said she took after her grandmother, Ma's ma. Her thick dirty blonde hair hung down her back in a tight braid, out of reach of Mixer's fingers. Mixer was awake, peeking out from between the folds of the sling, his mind tuned to Forest.

Titania was the tallest of the sisters; thinner and less voluptuous. She walked down the road with a fluid grace but, despite the flannel underwear she wore, she shivered when the cold wind whipped up her wool skirt. She pulled tight the shawl she used to cover her head and face.

Forest opened the top of his jacket. He was sweating under his arms but his nose and the tops of his thighs were cold. He took off his cap and ran a hand through the dark waves of his sweaty hair. At fourteen Forest was the same height as his oldest sister but weighed less.

Forest had been thinking about his parents' deaths. Neither made sense; neither should have happened. There was always a rope ladder inside the vat; Narrow had only recently fixed the top rung and Forest had seen Pa reattach it a few days before he died. Why hadn't Ma used it? Pa wasn't allergic to stinging insects; in fact, they seemed to leave him alone even when he occasionally stumbled into a hive when he was drunk. They'd sting him once or twice then fly off. Pa had been hung over that morning, he remembered. He felt a sudden jolt of pain in his head and he stumbled a bit on the road. When he regained his footing he couldn't remember what he'd been thinking about.

"What do you think it'll be like?" Narrow asked Forest in front of him. Forest shrugged.

Narrow was a copy of Pa. The same open, friendly face, the same smile that leaned more to the left. The same colour hair, although Narrow's light brown hair was corkscrew tight whereas Pa's was wavier. Narrow preferred his hair long but Ma didn't. She cut or trimmed all but Jelly's hair every few weeks. He hoped that Porkchop wouldn't make him cut his hair. Narrow was small for his age, agile, with slender hands.

Bull was eleven, almost twelve, but was the tallest and largest of them all. He was over six feet tall, broad and well muscled but he also had a heaviness about him that belied his age. Bull moved with calculation, with deliberation. He trudged along the road, his nostrils thrown wide open to catch anything unusual on the air.

Jones and Jelly walked beside one another as they always did when they were together. They were identical twins; the only physical difference was in the length of their hair. Both were tall and thin, taller than their older brother Narrow, although Jones was ever so slightly taller than his sister. They had soft, triangular-shaped faces that widened at their foreheads and slimmed to a point at their chins. They moved silently over the stones and dead leaves on the road.

Halfway down the road, a stick-thin figure with a nose like a rotten tomato and wearing faded long red underwear emerged from the house. He held a bucket filled with what looked to be brightly coloured balls. This must be Pater, Porkchop thought, and raised an arm in greeting. Pater reached into the bucket and lobbed one of the balls in her direction. It hit Forest in the head and exploded, spraying him and Narrow and enveloping them in a stench that made them gag.

"It's piss!" Narrow hollered.

Pater chucked one urine-filled water balloon after another at them. He had surprisingly good aim. The children dove into the yew ferns that lined the road.

When the bucket was empty and the road was littered with thin pieces of coloured rubber, Pater turned on his heel and stomped back up the porch. He removed a piece of paper from inside his long underwear and tacked it to the door then went inside, slamming the door so hard it shook the house.

"Jones," Porkchop said, "go get that."

He was back in a moment with the paper. His brothers and sisters had barely seen him move.

It was a crude drawing of Pater's house with a large X through it and nine stick figures standing in front of what Porkchop deduced was the barn.

"Nice welcome," said Narrow.

Porkchop pointed her chin at the barn. "This way."

Inside, the barn was warm and dry and smelled familiar. In the growing gloom Porkchop had a cursory look around. Wood pile, huge cast iron stove, dark corners filled with shapes. She looked up. High in the rafters was a loft with hay bales and blankets piled in one corner. She looked at her brothers and sisters; they were tired. She knew they should eat but she dared not approach the old man for food. Not after what had just happened. They'd wait for morning. She ordered them up the long ladder to the loft where they stripped off their clothing, draped it over the railing and fell asleep in the hay.

___

Mixer lay awake beside Santa. He was furious. His vague plan had been coming together so well until this happened. He didn't want to start over; he needed to be at the orchard. He forced himself to think.

He totted up what he knew. It would be useless to run away; his abilities were growing but his brothers and sisters had size and speed on their side. He needed to know more about the county law that the Constable had told Porkchop about. He also needed to find out more about the old man.

There was little he could do tonight. He closed his eyes but when sleep wouldn't come he snuck into Santa's head. Inside it was quiet and peaceful; a midnight blue sky punctured with the bright eyes of stars. He soon drifted off.

___

PC Pierre hadn't wanted to leave the children with Pater so abruptly but he'd promised the old man.

If only Porkchop were just a little older, he thought. He would have been more worried about them surviving the coming winter had it not been for her. She was sensible and would do what was best for the others.

Just as he'd studied Pater, he had also observed the family for years; watching the children grow and seeing some of their talents emerge. Unlike the Landlord, he always spoke to them whenever he stopped by the orchard on his rounds or delivered a message from the Landlord, or the times he brought their father home drunk from the Piggy Gristle. His visits rarely lasted long; Ma usually shuffled him out the door the moment his business was concluded.

But he had been there the day Titania was burned, five years ago. The Landlord was spending a week in Andrastyne and had asked PC Pierre to pick up that month's cider. He and Pa had just loaded the last of the kegs into the cart when they heard a scream.

Titania had always been the most beautiful of all the children. Her eyes saw everything and everything she saw became beautiful to everyone else. She would have grown up to be a beautiful woman had Ma not accidentally backed into a pot of boiling hot water on the stove when Titania was eleven. It crashed to the floor and the water splashed into Titania's face, leaving most of the left side disfigured. Ma, who never felt remorse for the beatings she laid on her children, was inconsolable and promised Titania that nothing bad would ever happen to her ever again and that from that day forward, the family would do everything for her.

Winter, PC Pierre thought. I could use a rest. It was hard work being the only police officer in a county this size. All the towns and villages were spaced far apart and in the woods and forests between them there still lived a few old survivalists who could be dangerous. Every now and again he would also discover an infected colony of adults. They'd either moved or been forcibly moved from their town and were now living along the rivers and streams. They never survived long. By comparison, the family at the orchard was only a little odd.

He spent the winters in Battery, a town of about one hundred people. It was primarily a through-town for lumbermen but had diversified over the years into a fruit and vegetable hub. A tidy but tired row of wooden homes lined either side of Main Road and beyond them was forest. The line of homes was divided by the market square. On one side of the road were a few shops that sold fruits and vegetables, meats, cheeses and milk, grains, hardware and farm supplies. On the other side of the street, two buildings dominated the property.

The first was the Piggy Gristle pub, a two-story wooden house. In the back, on the main floor, the Landlord had his office and upstairs his private quarters. At the back of the pub was a barn that housed the Landlord's horses and wagon. The Gristle was also, technically an inn, with three extra rooms on the second floor, although few people ever slept there. They preferred Baker's Yard if they had to spend a night.

Baker's Yard, an immaculately maintained three-storey, red brick house, contained the town's bakery, a small restaurant and a kitchen on the main floor. The seven upper floor rooms were rented to boarders and travellers. The two largest on the second floor were allotted to the Constable, who only really needed one. Mrs. Baker, the Landlord's elderly aunt, ran the place. Her quarters were off the kitchen.

He'd been the sole Deloran County Constable for eight years. Spring through fall, he lived in a cabin in the lower hills of the Western Woods. A lookout post stood atop the highest hill. He would climb the hill to the post, ascend the thirty-four rungs of the ladder, and look out. He could see for miles and miles. He could see Honey Hill, the edge of Pater's farm and part of the valley; beyond the valley, where he couldn't see, was the orchard. He always looked.

The Constable's main duty was to watch for forest fires and nuisance animals and tree poachers. There had been a time when trees were poached, ripped from the forests using huge machines that could carve up a hillside in a matter of hours and haul out hundreds of trees in a day, or night as was often the case. It was dangerous work. It was also illegal. The trees rightfully belonged to Deloran County. Trees meant life: they were food, fuel, housing, and were traded with neighbouring towns for other goods. Without them, Deloran County could not survive. The landowners at the time had responded to the crisis by establishing the Forest Police Force. Initially, the force comprised more than one hundred officers who were sent out to battle the poachers in any way they could. Dozens died every year in skirmishes; even more were injured or permanently disabled.

Over time, as the fuel dried up making the motorized machines useless, the tree poachers went in search of easier ways to make a living. The force was disbanded but the County retained the lone post of Police Constable.

PC Pierre's great-grandfather, Pappy, had been the town's first Police Constable. His grandfather and father had also held the post. His grandfather was killed by a grizzly bear before Pierre was born. Pierre's mother had died giving birth and his great-grandfather, now long since retired, had looked after Pierre when his father was working. Even at 99, Pappy had chopped wood every day and went trapping or fishing every week. He would tell him stories about the days of the tree poachers. At 106, he died in his sleep; his father was killed a month later in a mudslide. By law, Pierre should have been sent to a labour camp but his family's history with the town saved him. By a special decree, Pierre was sworn in as Battery's Police Constable at the age of nineteen.

Pierre was well suited to the job. He had the blood of three generations of police officers running through him, plus he was a good listener and read everything he could get his hands on. All policemen had to be able to read but the amount that Pierre read was unusual and his Pappy told him not to tell anyone how he liked to spend his evenings.

He loved listening to his Pappy's stories. His father had sometimes scoffed at some of them, but PC Pierre had found out, eventually, that many of there were true. Or parts of them were. The things that counted were true.

He inherited his love of history from his great-grandfather, who had kept a reference library. Most were the police record books that constables were required to keep but there were other records, some hundreds of years old. Some were thick Deloran County law books; others were shorter thread bound policies and pamphlets. Pierre received them all when Pappy died. Many were old and in poor shape and Pierre handled those as little as he could. He'd made notes and summaries of them instead, copying out whole pages in some cases.

PC Pierre's job description was vague — keep the peace, protect the forest — but he became a de facto jack of all trades in the compact town of Battery when winter came. Once travel became limited most people, PC Pierre included, hunkered down inside. His days were spent filling pot holes with soil and manure, dealing with the few drunks who'd stumbled through the bush to the Piggy Gristle, or breaking up fights. Evenings were spent reading and re-reading his reference books until his legal and historical knowledge could rival anyone's in the county.

When the weather was bad, which was often enough, he and Mrs. Baker were each other's only company for days at a stretch so he spent much of his time with her, helping with chores. He didn't mind. Mrs. Baker was the sort of logical, no-nonsense woman who could sum up a situation at a glance that he admired. It also led him to conclude that Mrs. Baker probably knew more about her nephew than she let on. But whenever he tried to steer the conversation that way, she would pick some adage from her memory about family or privacy or curiosity and that would be the end of the discussion.

He reached Baker's Yard and put Josephine in her stall beside Chester, Mrs. Baker's brown quarter horse for the night.

___

Bull and Jones were the first up. Narrow watched his brothers leave the loft, heard the barn door open and shut then climbed down after them. He peered out the front door and saw Jones fastening up his pants. Bull was casting his head from side to side, scanning the horizon and sniffing the air.

"Bull's after breakfast," he told Porkchop when he returned to the loft.

"Good. Go get some water from that well out front."

"It's all busted up. It can't be any good."

"Well, look around. There has to be another source of water."

Outside, Narrow looked around the yard. He didn't want to see Pater or have any kind of a repeat of yesterday. Around one corner of the barn a large white plastic cistern stood on wooden blocks. White plastic eavestroughing funnelled water from the roof into the cistern and a tarnished faucet had been hammered into it near the base. A metal bucket hung on a nail off the barn wall and Narrow grabbed it and set it beneath the tap. As he loosened the faucet, clear rainwater gushed forth.

Inside, Porkchop built a fire in the stove. She sat in front of its open door, relishing the heat, considering their situation. She would be nineteen soon and had been looking after her siblings for as long as she could remember. She knew everything that needed to be done at the orchard and was angry that they'd had to leave their home. But she also knew the Landlord; had known him all her life. He was always angry, always yelling, and he never looked at them if he could help it. Sometimes he would stare at Titania for a few seconds but that had only started happening after her accident. He didn't like being touched and would flinch and jerk away if any one of them so much as brushed his sleeve. It wasn't a surprise that he hadn't wanted to keep them on.

She supposed she ought to be grateful to Pater but her only impression of him so far wasn't a good one. She fed in a birch log and leaned back when the bark caught fire and started to spit. She would simply have to wait and see.

Bull had made a beeline for the north woods; Jones followed at his brother's pace. He'd only ever been allowed short spurts of speed at the orchard, to fetch something or someone in a hurry at Ma's command. He tried not to think about it much usually, but sometimes all he could think about was running for hours and hours, never stopping.

"We've got a ways to go," said Bull, stopping. "There's game but it'll be a while."

"Okay." Jones started to walk on but Bull remained. Bull wasn't particularly sensitive to what people were feeling but it was impossible for him not to see and be annoyed by Jones' constant fidgeting beside him.

"If you want to run, go ahead. Go east, but not too far. Listen for the signal." Bull blinked and Jones was gone. He saw an after image of his brother's grinning face.

Bull ambled north, taking in the details of the forest. It was predominantly deciduous with enough tree variety for excellent hunting grounds as well as food and building materials. There were also many well worn paths, human and animal. He had smelled as much from the road yesterday.

He strayed off the path he was on to check out an old foundation. He sat down on one of the exposed footings. It looked like the remains of a house. He waited a while to let Jones work off his energy then whistled, wa-wa, the two short syllables of the Nellsen bird. Jones returned, smiling and red-cheeked, and they continued north into the woods.

Bull soon sniffed out a small hare and three pigeons. Jones made short work of them all, snapping the necks of each one, quickly and without feeling, his hands a blur of motion from the moment he snatched the hare diving into its warren, to the last pigeon, which he caught mid-air as it tried to fly to safety. Jones carried the hare by its hind legs, its head dragging near the ground. Bull carried the birds.

With the exception of Titania, the others got up and climbed down from the loft. Porkchop set each to chores. Forest and Jelly went out to collect plants and roots and Santa took over the fire and watched Mixer. Narrow returned and set the water bucket on top of the stove to warm then followed Porkchop around the barn as she explored it. Mixer refused to sit still in Santa's lap and she put him down to crawl.

Jelly soon returned with her shirt front filled with potatoes, burdock root and wild sage.

"The potatoes were in the field behind the barn," she told Santa.

They were both thinking the same thing: We're hungry, but will we get into trouble for taking Pater's potatoes?

"There's dock and sage everywhere," she said, more to herself than to Santa, who had already made her decision and was cutting up the spuds.

Forest returned with his arms full of dandelion roots, several good sized Martin apples and some stalks of rhubarb. Santa chopped them up as well.

"There's more," said Forest. Forest had read the signs and knew that the coming winter would be a hard one. The more food they could stockpile now, the better.

While Santa cooked, Forest and Jelly returned to their foraging. Bull and Jones came back and plucked two of the birds and gutted them. Their innards squelched as they dropped into the empty wooden trough just outside the barn. Bull threw hay over them to mask the smell of blood. Santa would collect the offal after breakfast.

They heard a crash from somewhere inside the barn and rushed to the sound. It seemed to take forever for them to reach the back corner, as though they were running in slow motion. Finally, Forest, Jelly, Jones and Bull arrived to find Porkchop standing Mixer up. Mixer promptly fell onto his rump, twisted over and crawled away.

"Wow! Look at this!"

Narrow pawed through the heap of busted up cardboard boxes that Mixer had fallen on. Out of them spilled a treasure trove: dishes, cups, cutlery and utensils, pots, pans, a small grinder, a battered metal urn. That was only what the children could see; dozens and dozens more cardboard boxes and wooden crates were stacked along the barn's walls, two and three deep in some cases.

Porkchop's stomach rumbled and she ordered everyone to gather up the dishes and help with breakfast.

"Plenty of time to go through this later," she said, gesturing at the boxes.

When the others turned back towards the stove, Porkchop reached down and fished something out of the heap.

The smell of roast pigeon wafted into the loft and finally roused Titania. She gracefully descended the ladder and joined her siblings.

___

Porkchop wanted to get this right. Despite a howl of protest from Narrow, Porkchop decided that they would eat only the birds for breakfast. They'd give Pater the hare. She took Bull with her. He was a good person to have in a fight. Not that Porkchop thought it would come to that, but it wouldn't hurt to have him there, she thought. And she had the knife. She'd recognized the pocket knife in the heap. Pa had had a similar one, although his had a crudely-drawn four-leaf clover carved into the handle. He always carried it. He must have died with it in his pocket.

From the base of the porch Porkchop called out. There was a slight shift in the front window curtain. Porkchop introduced herself and Bull.

"The rest are in the barn," Porkchop said loudly. "Just as you asked," she added.

Nothing.

"We know how to farm. We could work the fields for you in the spring. Lot of good land back there."

Silence.

"We got a hare for you," Bull called.

The door was flung open and the old man shuffled out. He had put a pair of pants over top of his long underwear and wore a thick flannel lumberman's jacket. He straightened up and spat. The gob landed just in front of Porkchop's boot. He snatched the dead animal out of Bull's hands and sniffed it.

"Fresh. Good." He laid the animal on the porch. "I got some rules you gotta follow. First off, this is my land. My prop'ty. My rules. You live in the barn and you don't bother me."

Porkchop and Bull nodded.

"You're a hunter, eh boy?"

Bull nodded.

"Well anything you guys catch, I get dibs on the best parts, unnerstand? That's called paying rent. I don't care if you farm or not but I get dibs on the best stuff. It's my prop'ty, my land, my rules. Unnerstand?"

They nodded again.

"I may think up other rules," he said. "Let's get this over with." He made a shooing gesture at Porkchop and Bull. Confused, they backed up. Pater pointed to the barn. "Might as well get this over with," he said again.

Pater followed them back. The others quietly assembled into a line. Porkchop and Bull stayed to one side as Pater walked up and down, peering at each of them. He looked only briefly at Santa but his gaze lingered on Mixer in her arms. Mixer waggled his fingers at him. Pater frowned. He turned to Titania on the end. As always she wore a shawl over her head to cover part of her face.

He stared at her. Her eyes were an instant reminder. They were a painting thrown up in his mind of the girl who had tried to trap him. His misjudgement had caught up with him and now the grandchildren of that misjudgement had found him too.

"I got rules," he said to her.

"Rules," she repeated.

___

Spoon Valley was quiet. Splayed face down on a thick bed of moss at the base of a cliff was a man. He was covered in mud and grass and his hair stood out in wild knots around his head. His arms and face were covered in welts. The only thing in his pocket was a small, fold-up knife.

Winter

True to Pater's word, so long as the children stayed out of his way, he stayed out of theirs. During the first days on the farm Porkchop worried that Pater would change the rules; that he would suddenly want to tell them what to do and how to do it. But as the days progressed and Pater ignored them, she relaxed. Bull often smelled Pater slinking off. He was gone once for three days.

In the weeks before the snow arrived, the children made themselves at home and the days were spent investigating the fields, the woods, the creek and the barn.

The loft was empty of furniture, tools or anything else except a good store of thick wool blankets and dozens of hay bales stacked against the wide doors that faced the fields. Porkchop and Bull dismantled two bales to use as bedding but left the rest against the doors to block the wind. The only addition they made was a gate at the top of the ladder that they latched closed each night at bed time. Jelly had almost fallen off the opening to the wood floor, fifteen feet below, on their second night. Narrow fashioned a gate from an empty crate and attached it to the thick railing that ran the length of the open loft.

Titania slept in most mornings, climbing down only after everyone else had eaten their breakfast and only Santa was around. Sometimes, she would get up and sit quietly by the railing, watching her sisters and brothers from above. At others, she would move a hay bale to one side and peek out through the crack in the loft doors. She could see the fields beyond and the creek and, looking down along the side of the barn, a tall wooden ladder leaned up against the right side loft door.

They slowly made their way through the boxes and crates that lined the walls, finding tools, clothing and equipment, some of which even Narrow couldn't identify or figure a use for. Santa tailored the clothing to fit her siblings. For the first few weeks, they found new things about the barn almost every day, including six cold storage dugouts that were hidden beneath floor boards and were filled with seed potatoes, onions, bags of salt and ears of dried corn. The barn was cavernous and as they slowly emptied the crates, they found themselves having to shout to be heard from one end of it to the other.

Narrow, Porkchop and Santa spent a day shearing off the kernels and grinding them down for meal and flour. Forest and Jelly foraged as much as they could. Roots, tubers and apples were tossed into the dugouts and dozens of bouquets of wild herbs and greens were hung to dry across the hayloft railing. At the front of the barn they hung a bell they found and Santa would ring it at mealtimes. Bull and Jones hunted almost every day and were successful more times than not. Nevertheless, Porkchop knew that game would become scarcer as the temperatures dropped and had Santa salt some of their kills.

They didn't starve but having enough food for all of them plus Pater was a challenge. Everyone but Mixer lost weight. Jelly and Santa kept the family healthy. Jelly combined herbs into teas that they drank daily and Santa began to experiment with the food they had at hand. The two of them would gather round the wood stove sometimes, their heads bent over a steaming pot filled with all manner of roots and dried plants. Ma would never have let them do this.

Porkchop kept an eye out for the Constable but he never came. And when the snows began she put thoughts of him out of her head. He rarely traveled this far in wintertime.

The children spent their evenings planning. They would gather at the table near the wood stove, two oil lamps burning, and talk about what needed to be done and when; what tools they had and which they might need. Santa would tend the fire. She kept a crate full of shorn corn cobs beside her and would toss several into the woodstove at a time. Conversation would stop for a moment if they heard the pop of a missed kernel.

Ma and Pa had talked like this at this time of year. Over dinner, or doing chores, or in bed they would talk and talk, filling in the gaps, building up the next year's orchard plan in their minds. The routine was familiar.

Pater fell ill shortly after the first of the winter storms. The storm had first spattered cold rain, covering everything with a fine coating of ice then the snows had arrived and covered the ice. Bull found the old man sprawled on the floor one afternoon when he'd brought him his dibs. The pickings were slim that day: one scrawny rabbit and three black squirrels that looked like they had mange.

Jelly tended him as best she could. She forced a tea of steeped yarrow, chamomile and mint down his throat, with Bull and Narrow sitting on him as he squirmed. The tea would help with the fever. Pater raved incoherently but eventually fell asleep.

The one plant Jelly wished she had was cure-all. It was one of the first plants Ma had taught her about, telling her that it was the single most important plant in her medicine box.

It's very strong, Ma had warned Jelly. Too much could stop the heart but in the right amount it could cure just about anything.

When Jelly had packed to leave the orchard, she had checked her box but had found no cure-all other than a small handful of seeds. No dried leaves, flowers or root powder. She'd checked the herb garden the next morning before they left, but the cure-all that had been growing there had been ripped out. She didn't have time to wonder who had done it; the Constable was ready to leave. She'd searched the ditches along the way, looking for the tall purple-flowered plant, but found none.

During his fever, Pater had mumbled and quivered like a dreaming dog. Jelly kept a pot of cold mint tea at her feet. She soaked clean rags in it and placed them on her grandfather's forehead and neck, changing them every so often. She stayed with him through the first two nights.

On the morning of the third day, Porkchop appeared at the front door of the house, bundled in a blanket. The wind whipped a dusting of snow over the floor. She closed the door with effort.

"How is he?"

"His fever's finally broken. He's been sleeping for about four hours."

They both turned towards the sound of the door opening. Titania stood wrapped in one of the blankets from the hayloft. She held a corner of it in her hand and drew it across the left side of her face.

"I thought you might want a break, Jelly."

Porkchop frowned. Titania didn't do chores. Jelly looked at Porkchop.

"I am tired," said Jelly when Porkchop remained silent. "And hungry. It must be almost breakfast." Jelly stood up and gave her seat to Titania. "Change the cloths every hour or so."

"Let us know if he wakes up," said Porkchop.

Jelly and Porkchop bent their heads to the wind and struggled across the drifts in the yard to get back to the barn.

___

"Why can't you leave me alone? You tricked me!"

Pater's sudden outburst caused a muscle in Titania's cheek to twitch. She had been bent over, rinsing out one of the rags. She hadn't noticed him roll over and open his eyes. He stared at her.

"Try to rest," she said.

She held the rag in her hand. His eyes were clear.

"You saddled me with the boy. Wasn't that enough?"

"Just rest. You'll feel better if you sleep."

"Nine," he said. "That boy."

Pater stared at her as she leaned forward and placed the cool rag on his forehead.

"You don't look any different, you know that? You still look too damned smart for your own good."

His eyes rolled back in his head and when they came back to stare at her, they were glassy. Soon they closed again and he fell asleep.

___

The ocean beat at the coast and only the stupidest fishermen took their chances at sea. Without a constant supply of seafood, the city of Andrastyne had been forced to import supplies from inland communities and had instituted rationing.

The man arrived in the city well before winter. He had walked for days; first south then east through bush till he found a road. He followed it, living on whatever he could find and sleeping within the trees or in fern beds along the road side. His face was now smooth and clear with several days' growth of beard. Gone were the welts that had covered his face, neck and arms. The bruises on his legs and back and hips were fading but he now walked with a limp. He had no better idea of who he was now than when he first awoke at the base of the cliff.

He'd gone to several homes on the outskirts of the city and begged for food or water without success. In town, he'd gone into several shops, only to be shooed away from every one of them. He finally came to a lopsided wooden house at the end of the main street. A shingle with lettering on it hung at an angle from a single hook. He knocked on the door.

"Whaddya want?" growled the man who yanked open the door. He could have been sixty, he could have been thirty. There was no way of telling. His hair was long and greasy, hidden beneath a wool cap.

He glanced over the man's shoulder. Inside the shop were piles of food — potatoes, onions, turnips, apples — all waiting to be organized into individual ration bags.

"I need a job," he said.

E.R. Rank, one of Andrastyne's most successful jacks-of-all-trades, master of none but pickpocket to all, had taken the city rationing contract thinking that he could do the job alone and take all the profit, including skimming off the better produce for himself. But when the first load had arrived the day before, it was clear to Rank that this was, at the very least, a two-man operation.

"Well, well," he said, opening the door wide. "Ain't this a happy coincidence?"

___

Once he'd recovered, Pater made an exception to his rules. Although the other children continued to live in the barn Titania moved into Pater's house and took his bed, a wood frame with a hay-stuffed canvas mattress. The room, hidden by a curtain off the kitchen, was big enough only for the bed but unlike the second, smaller cubby hole where Pater now slept, it had a window.

There was only so much they could do to prepare for a spring planting and the family had a lot of time on their hands. Narrow would amuse himself for hours, tinkering with things he found in the barn but boredom soon set in for the rest. Jelly offered to teach them to read. She'd been practicing with the two books that she'd brought with her from the orchard and had found a few more among the crates.

As winter wound down Pater disappeared more frequently. On many of those days Jelly would turn his house into a make-shift school room; it was warmer than inside the barn. Narrow and Titania took to reading quickly; the rest struggled with it but only Porkchop eventually gave up, echoing Ma's belief that it was a waste of time when their job was farming. Mixer would sit on Santa's lap or Titania's bed and gabble the meaningless noises his family was used to hearing as he silently memorized the passages they read out loud.

___

Titania sat on the wooden chair on the porch wrapped in Pater's beaver skin coat. She had been watching thin bands of steel grey clouds scud along the late afternoon sky when she heard the honk. Turning down the collar of the coat, she peered about. In the yard, near the well, a Canada goose flapped in a nearby snow drift. Winter wasn't over but a thaw had set in. It had crept in on a southern wind and had lasted long enough to fool some birds into coming home early. She withdrew a shard of glass from inside the depths of the coat. With a flick of her wrist she sent it flying into the goose's breast. The bird fell over, spilling blood on the snow.

At the base of Honey Hill, PC Pierre unhooked Josephine from the cart and led her to a patch of land where the sun had melted the snow and the first grasses had appeared. She'll like the fresh greens, he thought. PC Pierre worried more about Josephine's diet than about her safety. She scared off every bear that came near and he'd once seen her kick a full-grown wolf to death.

As he climbed, the smell of thawing earth and leaf mould filled his nose and the sun warmed his face. He'd been cooped up in Baker's Yard for weeks and it felt good to be out in the forest again.

Now he stood on the plateau of Honey Hill and scanned the Western Woods. It was a patchwork of green and white. The forest, mostly cedars and pines, surrounded the hill and below him he could hear and see melting clumps of snow and ice as they fell from tree boughs.

Since leaving the children he had made the journey to his cabin only twice, on skis, to do some trapping. Both times he'd set his traps then gone to the lookout post. From the top he could just make out the edge of the farm and would wait until he saw at least a few of the children. He worried that his presence might attract Pater, who he knew had a still stashed somewhere on the far side of Honey Hill, which could lead to trouble. He'd promised Porkchop that he would try to check on them but other than his surveys from the post, he had stayed away.

For this third trip he'd opted for Honey Hill instead of the lookout post. He climbed up the cliff top for the best view and saw the barn and part of the fields behind it. Pater's front porch was blocked by trees.

The clouds thinned for a moment and a streak of sunshine fell into the farm yard. A flash of light caught Titania's eye. She looked up through the bare branches and scanned the hillside. She saw the outline of the Constable's distinctive leather hat sticking out from atop the jagged hill top and waited several minutes until he turned away and was out of sight before she went and retrieved the bird. She removed the shard of glass, wiped it clean on the snow and restored it to its hiding place in the coat.

She picked the goose up by its neck and dragged it to the barn. Santa was cutting up potatoes into a pot at the table and singing softly. She was surprised to see her sister. Ever since Titania had moved into Pater's house they saw even less of her than they had before.

"I've got this," said Titania.

She dropped the bird on the floor then shrugged off the beaver skin coat and hung it on a hook by the door. She joined Santa at the table. Mixer, who had been sitting at Santa's ankles beneath the table, crawled out to investigate. He used the coat to stand himself up then buried his face into the fur.

Santa walked over to inspect the bird. Blood had congealed along a long thin cut in its chest. She brought it back and heaved it onto the table; its head dangled off the edge. She looked back at Mixer, who was still hugging the coat.

Santa looked briefly into her sister's eyes, then away. Santa had been twelve when the accident happened and had helped Ma tend to Titania. She was the one who sat with her during those first horrible days and weeks; the one who brewed then helped her drink the cure-all and rose hip tea that would speed the healing and dull some of the pain; she was the one who had held Titania still twice a day so that Ma could replace the compresses. She was the one who had given Titania the mirror when she asked for it and held her when she cried at her reflection. She'd seen the change in her sister's personality long before anyone else.

"Well, this bird won't pluck itself." She paused then added, "I don't know if Bull and Jones will come back with anything."

"Pater doesn't need to know about this one," said Titania.

Titania stood up and went to get the coat. Mixer protested when she took it away from him. She heaved the great fur onto her shoulders and turned up the collar. Mixer reattached himself to the hem. Bits of the fur spilled from between his clenched fingers.

"Where is everyone?" Titania asked.

"Well, Bull and Jones are hunting. Porkchop is out in the back field somewhere. Jelly and Forest are probably in the woods. Who knows where Narrow has gotten himself."

Titania looked down at Mixer. He looked up.

Mixer had been looking for a way into Pater's house since they'd arrived. He didn't know enough about him; he needed proximity. He'd noticed that Titania had become increasingly restless as the winter had dragged on so when Pater got sick, Mixer saw his chance to use her impatience against her. He had first suggested that she help Jelly care for the old man. That had gotten her inside the house. Now he suggested that she do something nice for Santa, which would get him inside.

He waggled his head at her, thoughts flowing from his mind to hers. Titania frowned. She saw something behind her brother's eyes she didn't like.

"I can take him for a while, if you want," she heard herself say.

Santa watched Titania look at their brother. Was that a smile? Santa held out hope that Titania's internal wounds could still be healed.

"Thank you, that'd be helpful."

"I'll bring him back for dinner." Titania picked up Mixer, tucked him inside the coat and left the barn.

___

Titania trudged back to the house. Mixer peered out from the top of the coat, his eyes darting right and left.

Before the accident, Titania had never known sadness or anger or frustration or understood it in others. But she recognized it in the faces of her family and she had only to look at them and their hurt would abate.

The accident did more than disfigure her face, it disfigured her talent. All the feelings she'd never felt before — the sorrow, the spite and rage — came in waves and hurt more than the burns had. She couldn't take her own hurt away, let alone that of her family. Her only protection had been the emergence of a new talent.

When the Landlord came to collect his first spring cider, months after the accident, he found Titania standing outside by the press house door. She had heard his horses and cart on the road long before they appeared and had been drawn outside, her eyes closed and her head bowed. She walked slowly to the rain barrel and peered over the edge at her reflection in the water. Her narrow face and angular body had rounded and plumped, her hair had turned from fox red to birch blonde. She felt taller. She was beautiful in a way she had never been, even before the accident. But just below the surface, where only Titania could see, was the real her, the skin pocked and puckered.

The Landlord brought the horses up hard when he spotted her. He held the reins in one hand and swiped the other over and down his mouth and chin. He took a deep breath. He didn't remember ever seeing this one before.

Maybe, he thought as he steered his horses into the yard, she's been keeping her away from me. Naughty, naughty. He smiled then. He'd see to her. And the girl.

It had worked, Titania marveled. The Landlord hadn't seen her scarred face. He had seen what she had seen in the rain barrel. Beauty.

Her family was another matter. No matter how hard she tried to will the change for them, she failed every time. They couldn't see it. Neither could the Constable. Although the Constable, Titania had noticed, only seemed to have eyes for Porkchop in those days anyway.

She stepped into the house, hoping that Pater hadn't returned. He hadn't. She put Mixer down on the floor and sat at the table.

What had happened with Pater when he was sick still weighed on her mind. It was obvious from how he'd reacted that he'd seen someone other than her, but she had no recollection of a change happening. With the Landlord, even without confirmation in a mirror, she'd always felt it happen. At first she'd passed it off as a result of his fever but ever since he recovered whenever she looked at Pater in a particular way he would do whatever she asked.

___

Since they arrived Narrow had spent countless hours sketching the farm and the route they'd taken to get here. He had a similar map of the orchard rolled up in his pack.

He thought a lot about Pa and the trips he used to take. He'd head out early on his two-wheeler with a small wooden cart attached to the main shaft and disappear up the road. Narrow would watch him from the bedroom window upstairs and wish he could go with him. Pa called them his hunting trips but he almost never came home with something they could eat. Instead, he'd cart home containers of all shapes, sizes and colours; clothing; furniture; wheels. Whatever the family needed, Pa could usually find. It wasn't always an exact match but whatever he found was always put to good use. Narrow had learned a lot from Pa about how to take things apart and put them back together.

Narrow had explored the furthest of any of his brothers or sisters, even Bull and Jones who sometimes had to go miles before finding game. He loved every minute of it. At the orchard his time had been spent cleaning equipment, pruning trees, harvesting fruit, weeding, or doing a hundred other small chores. And there had always been Ma and the switch if he set one toe past the tree line. He had few responsibilities here and a whole new world to discover.

It was Narrow who'd discovered the second outhouse camouflaged behind a stand of red birch trees close to the reed beds. He also fixed the eavestroughing of the second, black cistern he found at the back of the barn. The dark colour absorbed the sun's heat and even after the coldest nights, the water often remained unfrozen and sometimes even lukewarm.

He was the one who'd followed the creek until it straightened out then ran parallel with the far end of the unploughed field before curving away and dropping off an embankment to the valley below. On the edges of the field, Narrow had also picked out evidence of previously dug rainwater diversion channels.

Eventually, he ventured off the property entirely. Some days he turned left on the road out of the farm, sometimes right. At Porkchop's order he was careful and always followed the main road, noting smaller roads and paths that veered off it. Those would be explored another day. Every now and then he'd stop and sketch new details on his map.

When the heavy snows and freezing rain began he'd been kept inside, ordered by Porkchop to help her sort out the mess of crates and equipment in the barn. But then the thaw came.

That morning he got up with Bull and Jones, leaving Porkchop still snoring beside Santa. After filling their water containers and grabbing some food, his brothers had disappeared into the woods. Narrow headed for the road and when he got there, veered left and headed for Honey Hill in the distance.

By mid-morning, Narrow had reached its base. The area was covered in honeysuckle bushes. When he reached the flat top of the hill, he had a new appreciation for what the Constable had told him. One side narrowed upwards to an edge that had some scrubby bush plants clinging to its top. It looked as though a giant had punched off the top half of the hill face.

He sat down on the edge of the plateau, his back to the ragged cliff, and swiped his long curly hair away from his face. Porkchop, unlike Ma, didn't care about the length of his hair. The air was cool and fresh and the sun was warm. The view was like nothing he'd ever seen before. After several moments, he realized that he was holding his breath and slowly let it out. Pine forest coated the land in a dozen shades of green. He took out his map and some charcoal and drew.

The sun was almost overhead by the time Narrow put away his things, slung his pack on his back and started up the incline to the top. The climb was almost vertical in spots and Narrow had to grab hold of whatever roots and rocks he could to keep from sliding backwards. At the top, he stood up straight and took in the sight.

He saw the farm; saw Santa get water from the front cistern and Porkchop as she stomped around in the back field. Then his eyes took it all in. Beyond the farthest edge of the field the land dropped away into Spoon Valley. Pa had been right; from this height it really did look like a big serving spoon. A mix of spruces, firs, pines, maples and birches lined the sides. The valley rounded at the north, stopped by a line of trees that spread out and up, but opened up at the south end. And somewhere, he knew, on the other side of the valley was the orchard.

He looked down at the road they'd taken last fall to reach the farm. He took out his map, compared it with his new vantage point and made a few corrective marks. He stood for a few minutes more on top of the cliff, breathing in the smell of thawing dirt. He found an easier path down the hill and, when he was almost at the bottom, found a few cure-all plants growing off the side, their purple blossoms long since dried up and its seed scattered. He wasn't sure if they would still be any good but he dug up three of them to bring back to Jelly.

___

Pater was on Honey Hill that day as well. He'd crept out of the house while it was still dark and reached the summit just as Narrow and his brothers were waking up. He squatted down on the edge of the cliff, lit a hand-rolled of dried herbs and grasses and watched the sun rise. Pater wasn't a complicated man. He preferred to be alone. His happiest moments were those when he didn't think at all.

But the children had made him start thinking of the past, and he didn't like that. Years ago, he'd fallen for a woman. When she told him she was pregnant he got scared and accused her of sleeping with someone else; that she was trying to trap him into looking after her and her bastard. He'd run away and found work at a lumberman's camp as a cook but she eventually tracked him down.

She'd walked quietly into the mess hall, her hand clutching that of the boy beside her. She told him that she was dying, that a healer had told her she didn't have long to live. She had coughed a lot.

His name, she'd said, is Hap. As though she had rehearsed it, she continued. He's your son. You have to take him. You must. There is no one else. He'll get sent to a camp. He's too young, he's only five. You have to take him. He's a good boy.

Good boy, my arse, thought Pater. Nine! If there's one thing he learned at that camp was how to avoid that and he goes and has nine of 'em. He spat herb-flecked sputum over the edge of the cliff. He wondered what his son looked like now. Sometimes he thought he saw traits of him in some of the children.

He'd been trying to avoid thinking about Titania, too, but her sharp-nosed face kept rising up in his mind's eye. She looked so much like her.

___

Porkchop walked the furrows for hours. They were muddy and slushy and icy all at the same time but she didn't care about their current state. She was imagining their future. Methodically, she walked and walked, looking down at her boots, listening to her feet as they sucked and squelched through the mud.

Soon, the field would be filled with corn and potatoes and onions. On top of what they had brought with them they'd found all kinds of seeds in the barn. Jelly and Forest had been plotting the vegetable grid for weeks.

When the clouds parted to let in the late afternoon sun, Porkchop raised her head and looked about. She whipped around as a flash of light caught her peripheral vision. She scanned the horizon, left to right, and caught sight of PC Pierre on top of the hill in the distance. She raised her arm in greeting but he had already turned away.

___

PC Pierre waited to see if any of the children would appear but none did. All seemed quiet on the farm; there were no obvious signs of trouble. The boys were probably out hunting and the rest were either in the barn or out back where he couldn't see. He began his descent. Josephine was grazing a ways down the road and he let her eat for a while longer before harnessing her to the cart and continuing to the farm. He had brought gifts for the children.

___

Bull and Jones had been out for several hours without success. Bull had scented a few animals but most had been too small to bother with. They had decided to go back to the barn and try again after dusk. They were almost there when Bull suddenly stopped. His nostrils flared.

"Deer," he said quietly. "Off that way. Might be a bit."

Jones slid his large hunting knife from the holster strapped to his thigh and cocked his ear. After half an hour a stag appeared, its antlers ripping apart the lower branches as it strode through them. Bull looked back to his brother, but Jones had already disappeared.

He reappeared on top of the animal, grabbing it around the neck with one arm, the other gripping its antlers. He yanked its neck sharply and brought the deer down so hard it shook the ground where Bull stood. There was a single, strangled sound and it was over. The stag's throat was slit. Bull was impressed by his brother's skill. It would feed them for weeks. Bull congratulated his brother.

"We're going to need help with this one," said Jones, wiping his knife clean with leaves.

"Go and get the others," he said. "I'll stay and make up a stretcher."

___

PC Pierre had heralded his arrival and as he and Josephine made their way across the yard to the barn, the door swung open wide and Jelly, Jones, Forest and Narrow came out running. They stopped when they saw him. As the door was swinging shut, Porkchop emerged. She looked like she had lost a little weight.

At first no one said a word but Porkchop soon took charge and told the others to go, she'd be right behind them. Her sisters and brothers followed Jones into the forest.

"You've got good timing," Porkchop said to the Constable. "Bull and Jones got a deer. A big one. We need all the help we can get."

"I'll follow you," he told her.

He steered Josephine around to the back of the barn. He left her harnessed to the cart then ran after the children.

___

When they reached Bull, he'd already fashioned a stretcher by twining thin branches and saplings together. Jelly lined it with the blanket she'd brought and the boys rolled the animal onto it; Narrow swatted away clods of snow and debris from its hide. The Constable arrived and helped tie the animal to the stretcher.

PC Pierre and Porkchop hefted the front of the stretcher, Bull and Forest the back. Jelly guided their steps back to the barn. Santa was waiting for them; Mixer watched as they lugged the huge animal into the yard.

They all pitched in, gutting, cleaning and salting. In the afternoon sunshine they worked and talked. They filled the Constable in on what had happened since they'd last seen him. Without Ma to shoo him away, the children were more talkative than he'd ever known them to be. He was surprised to hear Titania join in as well.

Narrow retold the story of their arrival, exaggerating Pater's movements for laughs.

"How is Pater?" he asked. "Where is he?"

"He's fine. Out somewhere," said Porkchop.

"He was pretty sick this winter, though," said Jelly. "Bad fever."

"And raving like a loon," Titania added.

"He's going to miss out on some great eats," said Jones, sniffing the air.

Santa had started to cook. Titania's goose roasted over the fire pit outside and chunks of deer meat slowly stewed in a huge pot on the wooden stove. Stomachs rumbled at the smell of meat and onions. PC Pierre washed his hands of the deer's blood before he tended to Josephine.

They were soon all gathered around the table. The children were too busy eating to hold a conversation over dinner but when they were done and Santa had made raspberry mint tea, Narrow took up where'd left off in his tales of Pater and the farm. He even ran to his pack in the loft to dig out the drawing they'd found tacked to Pater's door on their first day.

"We stay out of his way and he stays out of ours," Porkchop said with a shrug.

"So far, so good, eh?" PC Pierre smiled.

Porkchop smiled back, caught herself and looked down at her mug.

"Well then," said the Constable, "since you didn't get one, you deserve a proper welcome."

He put the box of gifts he'd brought on the table: large cloth bags of salt and flour, two jars of honey, three large rounds of goat cheese, a slab of pork fat, and a large glass jar of cider vinegar.

Santa and Jelly immediately thanked the Constable. Jelly was thinking of the tinctures and marinades she could make with the vinegar; Santa hefted the slab thinking of tomorrow's breakfast, frying in pork fat. Narrow opened one of the jars of honey and dipped his finger in then passed it around. Santa dipped in hers and brought it to Mixer's mouth. His eyelids were beginning to droop but he accepted her finger and sucked on the sweetness.

All evening he'd flitted from one sibling's thoughts to another but in the jumble of mixed conversations and the sleepiness brought on by a busy day and too much food he wasn't able to separate things out.

While the rest of them cleaned up, Porkchop took PC Pierre on a tour of the farm.

"It's going to be a lot of work," said the Constable as he surveyed the fields.

Porkchop nodded.

"Forest says there's some winter left but we're ready for an early spring planting. We've done just fine up to now."

PC Pierre looked at his feet.

"I'm sorry I didn't come. I checked on you from the lookout post at the cabin a couple of times. I didn't see any cause for worry."

Porkchop thought that she would have done the same thing if she had been in his shoes.

"But there is something I need to tell you. It's about Pater."

"I thought that wasn't your place."

The Constable blushed.

"This isn't just about him. You said he was sick this winter and if something were to happen to him, well this would concern the farm and me. But it's more complicated now that you're here."

Porkchop stopped at the far end of the field and looked expectantly at him.

"A few years ago, long before you came here, Pater got sick. It sounds like what he had this time, fever, delirious. He probably would have died if I hadn't shown up. I stayed with him for three days. One night he started screaming and screaming and he wouldn't calm down. He kept saying that he didn't want his boy to have his farm if he died."

"You mean Pa?"

"Uh huh. On the day that his fever broke he got angry at me, accused me of knowing his secrets. Wanted to know everything he'd said to me so I told him what he'd said about the farm and your Pa. I also told him that if he wanted someone else to get his land, he could write a will."

"What's a will?"

"It's a form that says who gets your property when you die."

Porkchop walked ahead of him along the edge of the field. The creek was running high with the thaw and PC Pierre had to raise his voice to be heard over the rushing water.

"I know the law. I know what can happen after someone dies."

"What? What happens?"

"If you don't have a will, anyone of age who's on the property at the time automatically gets the farm," he told her. "Your grandfather didn't want the farm to go to your Pa but he also didn't want squatters taking over, so he made me the heir. I wrote it down, gave him a copy and filed the original with the court in New Key."

"So if Pater died tomorrow you'd get the farm? What about us?"

"I wouldn't make you leave, you know that."

Porkchop nodded.

"Look, I only told you this because he got sick again. This is only if something happens. He's a tough old man. Besides, a will can be changed."

Wills can be changed, Mixer mused as he slid from his sister's thoughts.

___

The man had been working for Rank for three months now. He'd grown strong lugging sacks of produce through the streets of Andrastyne.

He'd told Rank that his name was Hap but not much else. The name had leapt into his mind so quickly that he'd briefly hoped that his memory was starting to return.

For his part, Rank stopped asking him personal questions after a day or two. He assumed that this man, Hap, if that was his name, was wanted somewhere. That could be of benefit to him. He watched him closely and casually asked around town about him. He found out nothing.

The thaw meant that fishermen could once more go out on to the sea and that trade could start again. It also meant that the labourers Rank ordered for his spring auction had arrived early.

Hap was on a delivery and Rank was rooting through a sack of beets when someone hammered on his door.

"Rank! You ol' sonofabitch, you in there?"

Gaines, ship captain and human smuggler, was Rank's labour connection. Gaines would snap up people along his travels and sell them to the highest bidder. These free labourers were told that if they could pay for their passage by the time they arrived, they would go free, but Gaines and his crew stole anything of value from them the moment they came on board.

Rank had always given him a fair price and always stood him some maple whiskey. Over glasses of it Rank asked him why he was so early.

"Had a bit of trouble with one of them, so I skipped a lot of my usual places and came straight here."

"But my customers aren't coming for another four days! What am I supposed to do with them? How'm I supposed to feed 'em?"

Gaines looked around at the sacks of food.

"Seems you've got plenty here."

"That's rations. Not mine."

"Sure, sure. And ol' Rank's not taking a bit off the top? Right. Look, you want 'em or not? I got others interested."

"How many?"

"Five. Four men."

"Don't get many women."

"Yeah, she was the trouble. Think she might be a defective."

"Yeah? Haven't heard of one of them for a long time. What's her problem?"

Outcasts always found their way into the biggest cities so Rank had come across his fair share of defectives in his lifetime. The first ones he could remember had been run out of Andrastyne when Rank was six years old. A healer and a painter, and their young daughter, he recalled. It was the healer they really didn't trust; she had tried to convince the council that taking a little bit of what ailed you was good for you in certain circumstances.

"Hard to say," Gaines shrugged. "But I don't mind saying, she gave all the boys the creeps. Best get rid of her quickly."

Rank paid Gaines and they both had another shot of whiskey. Together, they went to collect the labourers from the ship. Rank lodged the four men at the police station, bribing the duty officer with extra potatoes and onions, but the officer refused to take the woman.

Rank took a good look at her. She was tall, taller than he was, with light gray eyes. She looked strong. Still, she was just a woman, Rank thought, never mind what Gaines said. How bad could she be? Even if she is a defective, it's only for a few days.

He brought her back to the house and locked her in a wire storage locker in the cellar where Hap slept. He left her a bucket and two wormy apples.

___

PC Pierre had left the children the day after Bull and Jones had gotten the stag. Porkchop insisted that he take some of the meat with him; Jones had sliced off a hunk and Santa had wrapped it up in a cloth bag.

He spent a week at the summer cabin, readying it for the season. He cleaned and aired it out, oiled and set his traps, and chopped a month's worth of firewood to add to the months of fuel he had stacked against one wall of the cabin. He smoked the hunk of deer meat the children had given him. Mostly, he revelled in the sounds of the woods. He got reacquainted with his favourite spots and spotted familiar animals. He ate and slept well.

From his library at Baker's Yard, he had brought some of his great-grandfather's reference books with him and spent his evenings reading. One was a binder of essays written by his great aunt on his mother's side. He had the police diaries of his father, grandfather and Pappy, but the essays were the only link he had to his mother's family. At the top of each page was her name, Adelaide Mars and, in red pen, a letter. Most often the letter was a B but there were a few As and one C.

One essay was called The Three Theories of the Upheaval. The first theory was that an explosion at a nuclear plant — PC Pierre still wasn't completely sure what that was — caused a massive energy wave that levelled half the planet. The second theory blamed the damage on an earthquake, or a series of earthquakes. The third was that a meteor hit set off a chain of explosions and upheavals across the whole world.

"No matter what the cause," she had written, "mountains collapsed, rivers caught fire and more than half of the world's population died."

How could rivers catch fire? None of his references explained this or provided enough evidence to determine the exact cause. Everything he had was anecdotal. So much human and natural history had been lost during that period and so much more had been destroyed since. In the absence of any detailed scientific records, certainty was impossible. All he could surmise is that what was now Deloran County must not have been in the direct path of the destruction. It had suffered some — Spoon Valley attested to that — but roads and tunnels and the remains of some bridges remained. In some places, closer to New Key, he'd also seen metal tracks that had probably been used for transport at one time.

In another essay, Adelaide wrote about the infection. "The infection came after the Great Upheaval and killed a lot more people. It came from the west and it killed a lot of adults but not as many children. Some babies were born with defects, like knowing how to talk and read. Others could read minds or move things without touching them. It wasn't just humans. The Pecant Roster reported that, in East Dullinge dogs ran an inch above the ground and chickens laid fully cooked eggs."

PC Pierre through it might be nice to have a chicken that could do that. It would certainly be a time saver.

Over the years, the Constable had tried to assemble his library in chronological order but other than the police records, which were always dated many of his resources were not. His best guess was that whatever had occurred happened six or seven hundred years ago; the infection that followed had been virulent and almost always fatal for at least three hundred years. If the police records, which included all known registered deaths, were accurate, and he had no reason to suspect they weren't, fatalities had already begun to decline during his great-grandfather's generation.

Other texts suggested that the infection could lay dormant for decades at a time then resurface with the birth of a single baby. The documentation for those periods was grim with many people killed on suspicion of being defective.

"The defect was never that bad. It would have even been quite helpful in some cases," his grandfather had written in his personal diary. "Imagine a lumberman able to lift an entire tree or a messenger who could run to New Key and back in less than day!"

It had boggled the young Pierre's mind at some of the things Pappy told him defectives could do and he'd told his Pappy he wished he had one.

"Listen to me," Pappy said, gripping Pierre by the arm, not hard enough to hurt but with enough quiet force that Pierre knew his great-grandfather was serious. "People with the defect have it hard. There are a lot of ignorant people out there. They're afraid of what they don't understand. You ever meet someone with a real defect, you treat them well. Help them where you can. They need the luck."

It wasn't just the ones with the true defect who were at risk; many regular folk who had a natural affinity for something — music or carpentry or farming — were killed out of fear that this masked a greater defect. In Pappy's police records were plenty of reports of ordinary farmers murdered because they'd been overheard singing to their goats.

It was part of the reason why the Deloran County law had been enacted. The pure anarchy that fell upon the population every few decades was eventually too much to bear. All known or suspected defectives were exiled and their property and belongings taken from them. Their property was then sold with the proviso that the land be worked, producing a benefit to the community. It was a ruthless solution but it kept the small population alive and able to fend for itself.

"Eventually," his Pappy had told him, and many of the reference books confirmed it, "people became isolated and drifted away from each other. They'd interact in town, for business but nothing else. The law hasn't changed that much since then. The law's only mission is to make sure that enough people stay alive to produce enough food for everyone. Everything's tied to property."

When he asked him what happened to the people who were exiled his Pappy had shaken his head.

"A lot of 'em died in the bush I suspect. I'm sure a few survived. A lot of 'em weren't defectives at all, not true defectives."

PC Pierre read late into the night. It started to rain at one point but as always happened when he delved deep into history, he was too engrossed to hear it.

Spring

The equinox passed. Despite some snow that still lay in small clumps near the wooded areas around the farm, temperatures began to climb. The summer, Forest said, would be difficult. Hot, with lots of rain at the beginning, but bone dry by the end of the season.

Porkchop decided that the loft should have another exit so they'd taken down the hay bales and opened one side of the double doors. They propped it open with the ladder that leaned against the back of the barn. On the open side of the door frame Santa nailed long strips of fabric to keep out mosquitoes and flies.

To prepare for an early seeding, Jelly and Forest had set up a growing area near the back door of the barn. The large double window let in the sun as it crossed the southwestern sky. Perfect light for the seedlings they'd started. Forest, with Narrow's help, had built three shelving units from items found around the barn and on their slats now rested dozens of containers. Pearl apple trees, vegetables and herbs sprouted from them.

The only plant that would not cooperate were the cure-all seeds Jelly had brought with her from the orchard. No matter what she did they would not germinate. The small bunch that Narrow had brought her had also gone missing. At the time she'd set the plants at the back with the rest of their planting gear but the next day they were nowhere to be found.

___

"We've got company," Rank told Hap when Hap returned with the produce cart at the end of the day. Rank explained the situation.

"Nowhere else to put her, so you'll be bunking with her. No funny business."

They ate then Rank went to bed. If she was trouble, Rank thought, Hap would have to deal with it first.

Hap's bed was in a dark corner of the cellar across the floor from where the woman sat on the upturned bucket, her chin in her hands. He nodded to her. She lifted her face and nodded back. An image of a brown-haired, fox-faced woman came to his mind. He looked back at her.

"Can I help you?"

Even her voice sounded familiar. He reddened and turned away, back into the shadows.

"No. I think you remind me of someone."

"Think? You don't know?" There was a sing-song quality to her voice.

Hap wanted to talk. It was so frustrating not having anyone to confide in. He occasionally had moments where pieces came back to him but the images were jumbled and didn't make any sense. The image of the fox-faced woman, however, was different. More solid. Real.

"You remind me of someone."

"Who?"

Hap said nothing for a moment. He sat down on his bed.

"Why are you here?" he asked her.

"Ah. Changing the subject. Okay, Hap."

"How do you know my name?" Hap's heart beat faster.

"Rank. Overheard him talking at the station."

Hap relaxed.

"Anyway, a change of scene."

"What?"

"Why I'm here. I wanted a change of scene."

"But you're going to be sold!"

She shrugged.

"What about you Hap? What's your story?"

I don't have a story, he thought. To the woman he said, "I'd best get to sleep. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Hap."

"What's your name?"

"Ask me tomorrow."

Hap opened his mouth but quickly shut it. He rolled towards the wall and tried to sleep.

When Hap awoke in the morning the woman was asleep, lying on the floor of the storage locker and turned against the wall with the blanket over her head. Rank told Hap about the plan for the auction as they'd jogged through the rain to the depot to collect the day's vegetables.

"Nothin' can go wrong, see? Got an important client coming tomorrow. The Landlord of Battery. Go check on the men at the station in the morning and get them cleaned up as best you can. That woman given you any trouble?"

Hap shook his head.

"Well, I can't take any chances. Once you've cleaned up the men the officer will bring 'em to the docks. Then start packing today's loads in the front room so's you can watch for the flag to go up."

Here Rank stopped at the top of the road and turned around. The road was steep and below it were the harbour and the pier. Rank pointed to his left.

"See that flagpole?"

Hap nodded.

"When you see the green flag go up, you come running, see?"

"Okay. ... Battery," he said. "Is that north?"

Rank shook his head. "West."

It was still raining when Hap finally returned from his last load of the day, too tired from pushing the cart through the muck-filled streets to eat supper but eager to see if the woman was awake. Rank had already gone to bed. Hap went down to the cellar but near the bottom of the steps he could see that she was, as she had that morning, turned to the wall with the blanket over her head. He sighed. Maybe he'd have a chance tomorrow morning before the auction. Maybe he'd waited too long.

Hap took off his wet clothes and was about to crawl into bed when he saw something on his pillow. He lit a candle. It was a photograph, printed on thick paper, of the fox-faced woman. She was older than in his memory but it was her. She stood in sunlight wearing a checked dress and holding the hand of a little girl with copper-coloured hair. He sat down heavily on his cot and stared at the photo.

"The little girl is me," she said.

"What's your name?" Hap asked.

"Marvellous."

"That's a great name," said Hap.

"The woman in the photo is my mother. Well, our mother. I wasn't sure at first. She told me about you. How she'd had to leave you with your father because she was sick. She got better but then she had me. She died when I was thirteen. I got sent to a labour camp."

I don't understand any of this, Hap thought. He took a chance.

"I can't remember anything about my life before I came here a few months ago."

Marvellous was silent for a moment, looking intently at him.

"Then maybe I can help fill in some blanks. I know it's you. You have the knife."

Hap's hand automatically went to his pocket and pulled out his folding knife.

"How...?"

Marvellous stood up and drew her fingers lightly against the wire cage.

"This doesn't stop me," she said. "I checked your pockets last night after you fell asleep."

Rank had hinted that the woman might be defective and Hap was half expecting her to wave a hand and the door to suddenly open of its own accord. Instead she pulled a pin from inside her shirt, jiggled it twice in the padlock then opened it. She crossed the floor and sat beside Hap on the bed. She took the knife from his hands.

"Mama said she gave it to you when you were four. She said you'd engraved a four-leaf clover into the handle. See?"

Marvellous turned the knife over and handed it to Hap.

"Is that what that is?"

"You don't remember what clover looks like?"

"I guess not. Did my, our mother, tell you my name?"

"Well, that's a bit strange considering you say you can't remember anything. She said it was Hap. Said she named you after the road your father took out of town. When Rank mentioned it, I wondered if it could be you. You may not remember much, but you got your name right."

"It was the only name I could think of," said Hap.

"Names are powerful things."

Hap looked at his knife, ran his fingers over the engraving.

"I can't let you go tomorrow," he said suddenly, standing up. "I have to get you out tonight."

Marvellous grabbed his arm and pulled him back down to the bed.

"No. Too dangerous. Has Rank told you anything about the auction?"

Hap told her what he knew.

"This Landlord, he's our buyer. He's rich and since the rich are all bastards it's easy to give them what they want. Leave him to me."

Marvellous told Hap what to do to prepare in the morning.

"Now, you need to go to sleep," Marvellous said.

"There's so much I want to ask."

She got up, crossed the floor, and locked herself back into the storage cage.

"When we get to where we're going," she said, "there'll be enough time."

___

The Landlord arrived in Andrastyne at supper time the night before the auction. He left his horses at the Andrastyne Inn, gorged himself on a steak dinner then spent the evening in the company of a young woman at Mrs. Nibbs'. He left the brothel at dawn and returned to his room at the inn to wash up. He was the first to arrive for the auction.

Now, he stood on the pier in the rain looking over the goods. Skilled labour was always in short supply and many of the landowners relied on the quarterly auctions to staff their lands. Men were brought in from all over for sale. Some, like the four men Gaines had brought, had sold their freedom for a chance at a job, regular meals and a roof over their heads; many were former labour camp kids who had run away and were easily threatened into service; others were free labourers and they had a certain amount of rights. The Landlord didn't want to use free labourers if he could avoid it.

The Landlord walked up and down the line of manacled men, peering into their eyes, squeezing their biceps and checking their feet. He needed the right person for the orchard; someone strong and healthy, yes, but also someone who would do as they were told.

The last person in line was a woman. Unlike the men, she was not shackled, only tethered with a leather strap by one hand to a railing. She was tall and her skin was the same light coppery colour as her short-cropped hair. The Landlord stopped and looked down at her. He narrowed his eyes. A woman would be easier to control, he thought. The last one was easy enough and this one was better looking. He smiled.

"Used to hard work?" he asked her.

"Yes," she said.

"Where?"

"I've been in labour camps most of my life."

"Uh huh. Know anything about pearl apple trees?"

"They grow the same as any other."

"You've worked an orchard before?"

She nodded. "Avocados," she said. "Lemons long ago."

"What the hell's an avo..."

"Avocado. They're a green fruit. They grow on trees."

The Landlord studied her a few moments more.

"Wait here," he told her.

The Landlord haggled with Rank over the price, eventually settling on a figure that had both men thinking they'd gotten the better deal.

"I'm at the Inn," the Landlord said, jerking his thumb up the hill. "Have her ready for me in two hours. It's a long ride back."

Rank quickly sold the four men who had come with Marvellous to a peach farmer from the south, then raised the green flag on the pier. It was the signal for Hap to come down. When Hap arrived, Rank told him to take the men to their new ship.

"When you're done there start delivering the loads. I'll take care of this one," he said, gesturing at Marvellous.

While Rank settled with the peach farmer, Hap quickly untied the men from the pier but left on their wrist and ankle manacles. As he freed the last man he glanced up at Marvellous.

"The Andrastyne Inn," she said quietly, "in an hour."

___

While Rank had been setting up the auction, Hap had taken the men to the station then raced back to Rank's. In the cellar, he grabbed his bag and canteen, rolled them up in a blanket, secured the bundle with cord and slung it over his shoulder. Upstairs, he tossed some vegetables in his pack and put on Rank's heavy oilcloth coat.

He had sat at the window and watched as Rank led Marvellous down to the pier. He saw the police officer pushing the four men, their hands and feet shackled, towards it; saw Rank shake the police officer's hand.

Then Hap saw the Landlord. It had to be him. He was a large man, fat, with a thick head of wavy black hair that was starting to grey at the sides. He had a square and prominent jaw. He shivered when he saw him take Marvellous' sleeve and roll it up so that he could inspect her arms.

When the Landlord turned away to speak to Rank, Hap saw Marvellous' face tilt up towards the house and the window where he sat. Even at that distance, Hap felt his sister's eyes on him. Saw her nod. He nodded back.

Now, Hap took all the small side streets and short cuts he'd learned during his time in the city. He arrived at the rear of the Andrastyne Inn, where the guests' horses were kept, crouched in a clump of black spruce across the road and waited.

Soon the barn doors opened and two large black horses, harnessed to a wagon laden with wooden crates were led out. The Landlord appeared holding Marvellous by the arm. Hap crouched lower in the pines.

They settled on the seat of the cart and the stable hand gave over the reins to the Landlord. He yelled and snapped the leather to get the horses moving.

There was only one road wide enough to take the Landlord's wagon out of town; it was the same road Hap had followed into Andrastyne; it had no turns or intersections for several miles. Hap would let the wagon get ahead a bit before he started to follow.

But as the horses began to crest the hill to the road, a bakery boy came pedalling round the corner. Hap had seen the two-wheelers around Andrastyne. Even in winter, the bakery boys delivered bread on their bicycles. One of the horses reared and the boy almost crashed but managed to keep the bike upright.

The Landlord stopped to yell at the boy. The boy leaned the bike against a nearby tree then stooped to gather up the loaves that had fallen from his basket.

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry sir! It won't happen again!"

"You idiot! What do you think you're doing on that thing? You scared my horses."

"Sorry sir! Sorry!"

The boy kept apologizing as he turned and dashed through the door to the inn's kitchen.

Hap waited till the Landlord's cart began to move again and had passed the clump of trees before he ran across the road and stole the bicycle.

___

Mixer sat on Titania's bed and looked out the window. It was warm but he didn't want to take off his new coat, a birthday present from Santa. She'd asked Titania if she could cut off part of the beaver skin coat to make Mixer a new one.

There hadn't been enough to do Mixer's entire coat in fur, so Santa had stitched together lengths of beaver skin and wool. The finished product was a striped coat of deep brown and grey, with a fur collar and cuffs. Santa dismissed it as her imagination but Mixer appeared taller the moment she put it on him; taller and steadier, although his enormous behind still gave him balance troubles from time to time.

Titania brought him to the house every day, giving him time to appraise Pater. Other than the almost daily insults, Mixer sensed no particular animosity from the old man towards him or any of the others. Pater's thoughts, such as they were, were relatively simple and straightforward. Mixer played with him from time to time, sending him outside to get water, then making him forget what he'd gone out for, or making him think that the skinny pigeon he selected from the four Bull offered him was the best of the lot, leaving the fatter birds for the rest of the family. Mixer didn't like Pater's habit of taking off for days at a time, but he wasn't strong enough to stop him. There was a feral quality to the old man; an instinct that could not be overridden.

He'd discovered that this was true of his siblings as well. He could make them do many things, but he could not override who they truly were or force them to do anything against their own nature. Instead, he practiced using their characteristics and their habits — good and bad — to his own ends.

Being at the house also gave Mixer time alone to consider his options and figure out how he could use what he had learned about the Constable inheriting the farm. Back at the orchard he'd only just begun to put his plan into action when it had been foiled by the Landlord. And the law. He'd had no choice but to start all over again.

Mixer looked out the window and listened to Pater snoring.

The old man had been gone for the past two days and had returned late last night, drunk. Mixer had stayed with Titania that night; it was raining hard and Titania didn't feel like going out into the wet to return him to the barn. They were woken up when Pater came stumbling through the front door and smashed into the wooden table in the middle of the room. Titania had told Mixer to stay where he was, but he'd crept to the front of the bed and peered out through the curtain.

Titania helped Pater into a chair near the stove and threw a blanket at him. She banked up the stove and put a pot of water on to boil. While the water heated, she rubbed the old man's head dry with a corner of the blanket then helped him take off his shoes. She wrapped his bare, bony feet in a towel. When the water boiled she made him a weak mug of valerie tea. Ma had always made Pa drink it whenever the Constable brought him home drunk from the Piggy Gristle. It wouldn't sober him up any faster but it would guarantee that he'd have to get up every few hours to use the outhouse.

"Drink this. Better?"

Pater mumbled.

Titania said nothing. When Pater had finished the tea, she poured him more and gave him a hard biscuit.

"Eat that. It'll soak up the cider," she told him.

"S'not cider."

Titania shrugged.

"'S whiskey."

Mixer started to push Titania's thoughts but found her already where he wanted her to be.

"Where'd you get whiskey, old man?"

Titania grabbed Pater's chin and raised it so that his eyes met hers. His eyes grew wider and he shivered. He drew the blanket tighter around him and was quiet for a while. When he spoke, he did so carefully, trying hard not to slur his words.

"Maple whiskey. Ah've got a still."

"What other secrets are you keeping from me?"

"None. Swear."

"How can I be sure? Maybe you're getting tired of us? Maybe you want to get rid of us?"

"Nah, nah. Don't care what youse do. Saves me huntin'. 'N I can tell that boy cop where he can get off. Maybe he ain't gonna get this farm when I die after all."

"Why would PC Pierre get the farm?"

"'Cause he's prob'ly the only one who wouldn't screw me over."

"Why not give it to your son?"

Pater sat up straighter in the chair.

"Sorry bastard. 'Sides, he's gone. No, had to give it to that boy cop. He's dumb but he ain't a liar. He would have been fair about it. Die without one and any arsehole can take your prop'ty."

"Die without one what?"

Pater took a swig of the tea.

"Boy cop tole me it's called a will. The law don't make sense. 'Fore you came here, that boy cop tole me that I oughta say who gets my prop'ty when I die. Said that the county'd take it if I didn't pick someone. Worse'n that, he tole me that if someone was squattin' on my land and they was over twenty, they'd get it. How's that for the law, huh? Give a man's prop'ty away to some dirty squatter. Weren't gonna take that chance. That cop's dumb, just like his daddy and his granddaddy 'fore him but he's no liar."

Mixer scanned his sister's thoughts. Titania's mind was already putting pieces together. If anything happened to Pater, she thought, the Constable would inherit the farm. Then she thought, the Constable likes Porkchop.

"So what did you do?"

"He wrote it down on a piece of paper and had me make an X on it, so it's all legal. But I lost it."

Titania heard Mixer's quiet intake of breath behind the curtain.

"But I guess that medicine girl of yours can write it down again for me."

"Jelly?"

"Not like I plan on dying anytime soon, so don't think you're getting my prop'ty tomorra. But, well, you ain't done such a bad job here. Better'n some dirty squatter."

Pater chewed the biscuit and swallowed the last of his tea.

"Your sister, the older one...?"

"Porkchop."

"Yeah. She's gotta be near turned, right?"

"Near enough."

Alone in the house, Mixer took off the beaver and wool coat, laid down on Titania's bed and drew part of the coat over his legs. Outside the window, he could see Porkchop wandering in the back field, her head bent down, watching her feet. Pater continued to snore.

If the Constable was smart enough to know the law, Mixer thought, if he was smart enough to convince a crazy old coot like Pater to hand over his property to him, then he was smart enough to keep a copy of Pater's will and still had the legal right to the farm. That could have been a snag in his plans had Titania not revealed the Constable's feelings for Porkchop. Pater's rhythmic snoring made Mixer's eyelids feel heavy. As he fell asleep, new plans circulated through his brain.

___

Porkchop squelched through the back fields. It was still too wet to plant but they couldn't afford to wait any longer; Forest had said that the rain would stay a while longer but that hotter temperatures were on their way. If they waited too long, the roots wouldn't establish. The key had been drainage.

Narrow had proposed digging out the ditch that ran along one edge of the field, to draw off the excess water and channel it towards the reed beds. Porkchop and her brothers had spent an entire day digging; the clay bed beneath the topsoil was heavy and they had been so tired and filthy by the end of it that they had all jumped into the freezing cold creek, fully clothed, as much to wake up as to wash off the muck. But it had been worth it; the ditches were working, slowly siphoning the water off the furrows and into the cattail marsh.

She stared at the mud and thought of the future, the bone dry future. She had brought up the subject over dinner one night weeks ago.

"The marsh will retain enough for the fields and there's the creek," said Forest.

"The clay will help, too," Jelly added.

"It's the drinking water I'm worried about," said Porkchop. "If there was a way to store all this rainwater...what we could really use are some fermentation vats."

Narrow devised a solution. He borrowed pine resin from Jelly and coated the inside of an empty crate with it then laid cattail leaves over top of the sticky mix. It leaked at first but Jelly added a bit of goose fat and some charcoal to the resin, making it stronger. The next attempt worked. A dozen waterproof crates now lined the northeast side of the barn and each day they emptied the excess rainwater from the cisterns into them. More crates were inside the barn in various stages of completion.

Tomorrow at dawn the hard work would begin. With Titania taking care of Mixer, the rest of the family would spend the next several days planting.

Porkchop came to the ditch and was pleased to see water flowing slowly but steadily into the swamp. Some of last year's cattails still stood, their brown flowers exploded in soft, puffy strands. One of the green flowers on a new plant suddenly bobbed up and down as the rain began again. She took one last look around, scanning the horizon and the top of the hill in the distance, and then returned to the barn.

___

Hap took to the bicycle as though he'd been riding one all his life and easily kept pace with the Landlord's two black horses, although he stayed far enough behind to avoid detection. They rode until nightfall when the Landlord arrived at a small hunting cabin and pulled into the yard.

"We'll stay here tonight," he told Marvellous.

He left her tied to the cart while he fed and watered the horses then led Marvellous to the cabin, his hand tight around her bicep.

Hap saw them disappear inside. He found a clearing in the woods across the road from the cabin, wrapped the blanket and Rank's oilskin coat around him and bedded down for the night. He couldn't risk a campfire.

Other than a few minutes snatched here and there, though, sleep eluded him. He knew that Marvellous was strong and could take care of herself but he couldn't stop thinking about what the Landlord might be doing to his sister inside the cabin.

___

"So that's what you'll be doing," said the Landlord.

He'd explained the workings of the orchard to Marvellous over a cold dinner of pork and biscuits. They ate with their fingers while sitting on benches that lined two of the walls of the small cabin.

"I can hire some day boys to help you get the place up and running," he said.

"I doubt I'll need any help," Marvellous said quietly.

"Ha! It's a big place. Lots to do," said the Landlord.

He drained his flask and got up to look around the cabin for more.

Marvellous reached into her jacket and withdrew a goatskin bag. Still seated, she offered it to him.

"Try mine," she said. The Landlord walked over to her and looked down, first at her then at the bag.

"Tell you what," he said, taking it from her, "I'll give you a trial period, let's say a week? If I don't like what I see, I'll do what's best."

He took a swig, gave a nod of approval, and tossed more back. He sat down beside her but was only able to paw at her hair a few times before he passed out.

She could so easily kill him right now but she didn't. She still needed him to guide her and Hap to the orchard; without being physically on the land any claim she might have would be gone. But there were other things she could do, as she'd done that night. The herbs she'd added to the wineskin wouldn't hurt him; just put him into a deep sleep. And make him piss a lot the next day, she smiled to herself.

She thought about what her mother had trained her not to do. She might have to use some of those defects. She didn't care about the word. She didn't take many things personally. She could do things that others couldn't; it was as simple as that. Some defects, like knowing all about plants, was something anyone could do, given some training. Marvellous knew this but had always kept that opinion to herself. But her other defects were not things many people could do. She could reach great speeds and could look in on someone's thoughts while masking her own.

And then there was her ability to change. With intense concentration, Marvellous could change her appearance. Her grandmother had had it but not her great grandmother, Marvellous' mother had told her after the first and last time Marvellous changed. She hadn't told her seven-year old daughter that her grandmother had been beaten to death by a town mob and then thrown to the crab beds just off the coast.

"You can't let people know what you can do, Marvellous," she'd said. "People will be afraid of you."

"Why?" Marvellous had asked. She had only changed her hair colour and her height a bit; she didn't know why her mother was making such a fuss.

"It's like what I told you about your speed, do you remember? People are stupid. They think that anything they can't explain is a defect and that somehow it's going to hurt them. They are afraid of what they don't understand. It's maddening! What they think of as defects are often perfectly normal skills!" her mother had said all in a rush. She had paused then and her shoulders relaxed. "You can't blame them, I suppose. If they weren't taught, you can't expect them to know any better."

As she had grown up, Marvellous had often wondered how her mother could ever have had any sympathy for people. In Marvellous' experiences growing up in the port town, it wasn't just some of the people who were terrified of their own shadows it was virtually all of them. And of the few who weren't, she could never be sure they wouldn't turn her in just to shift the attention from themselves. She'd learned quickly not to trust anyone or to let herself be trusted. Until now. The sad little man who had followed her all the way here trusted her.

She pictured Hap in her head but couldn't find his thoughts. Still, she believed he was out there somewhere close by. If she had to use her defects to protect her future, and his, that's what she would do. Her days of running were, she hoped, coming to an end.

___

PC Pierre's week at the cabin was up and now he was heading back into Battery. He needed supplies for the summer and had already waited through several days of non-stop rain at the cabin until he gave up. He pushed Josephine as fast as she would go in the sheeting rain. Rain or no rain, he had to get to town.

The rain was coming down in fat drops as Josephine pulled a soggy Constable and an empty cart to the stall at the back of Baker's Yard. PC Pierre jumped down from the cart and ran to open the shed doors to let in Josephine. Chester whinnied in his stall when he opened the doors. Josephine stopped midway through and refused to move. The front half of her was in the dry inside while rain poured down from the roof onto the Constable who eventually gave up trying to pull her inside and was now splayed across her rear end fiddling to get her harness undone.

"Thanks a heap, Josie," said PC Pierre as he wheeled the cart into one half of the stall. Josephine shook her head and stepped into her stall in the back corner. She looked at Chester, who nodded at her.

He dashed through the rain and onto the porch of Baker's Yard. PC Pierre opened one of the front double doors and stepped inside onto a straw mat. A brass bell clanged above him. He wiped his boots clean.

Two wall lamps had been lit inside. A wooden counter ran three-quarters of the length of the front room and in the middle of it was a hinged pass-through. A swinging back door with a window cut into it led to the kitchen in the back. Baskets filled with a few loaves of bread, some cookies and biscuits lined the shelves behind the counter. Shelves on the other walls held a variety of books, utensils, garden and farm implements, baskets, and jars filled with preserves and pickles. Three small tables, each with four chairs crowded around them, took up the rest of the room.

"Mrs. Baker?" he called.

"Back here!" she hollered.

The Constable swung through the door.

"Anything left? I could sure use some supper."

"Have you ever known me to run outta food? Have a seat. Lemme just dry my hands."

Mrs. Baker filled a bowl with stew and turned to set it before the Constable.

"My goodness! You're soaking wet! Why didn't you say anything? Upstairs. Now. Change first." She held onto the bowl and flicked her fingers at him. "Go on, I'll keep it warm."

PC Pierre took the back staircase to his rooms, changed then returned to the kitchen.

"So...where's that stew?"

Mrs. Baker set it down in front of him along with a basket of fresh baked rolls.

"I'm just gonna keep doing the dishes, hun. But you catch me up. How've you been keeping?"

"Pretty well. This rain, though. Never seen so much."

"Must make it hard for old Josephine, eh?"

"Oh she can take care of herself," the Constable said. "I never worry too much about her."

"Ha! You worry about everyone, hun."

"It's my job, Mrs. Baker," he said. He paused to chew some gravy-soaked bread. "Speaking of jobs, do you know if the Landlord's back from the auction?"

"Not a clue, hun. Probably be any day now, though. Won't be soon enough. Those two he hired for the bar this summer are almost as bad as the lumbermen. I've already set three broken arms and had to pop somebody's shoulder back in since they came."

"Okay," he said. "Seems pretty quiet over there now. I'll go and speak with them. "

The Constable put his bowl and plate into the sink.

"You know me, hun, I'll be in bed by the time you get back. See you in the morning."

"Goodnight, Mrs. Baker."

___

The Landlord blindfolded Marvellous for the last two hours of their journey so that she wouldn't know where he was taking her. She smiled to herself thinking of how pointless that was.

As the journey had worn on, the scenery around Hap had started to look more and more familiar. Trees, rock outcroppings, and especially an old road sign that he couldn't read but somehow knew read Hap Road. Marvellous had told him that their mother had named him after the road his father took out of town.

At a fork in the road the Landlord steered his cart left, heading west. Hap pedalled for the bush, searching for the trail he instinctively knew was there. It ran parallel to the road. Riding through the thick tree cover he could see that he was easily overtaking the tired horses. The trail continued through an old stormwater culvert that ran beneath the road bed; it was high enough to stand up in and he easily pedalled through it. Coming out of the culvert on to the trail on the other side Hap's heart was pounding hard and he could almost taste what he was about to see.

And then there they were: row after row of pearl apple trees just about to bloom. The light green buds hid the delicate pinkish-white flowers beneath and bobbed in the damp breeze.

In a rush, it all came back to him. He dropped the bike and leaned back heavily against a tree. What had happened to his wife, his children?

From his vantage point he saw the Landlord pull the cart in close to the press house door and hurry his sister inside. Hap sank to the ground. Tears rolled down as his cheeks as the faces of his children came to him.

___

Once the rain finally stopped it was too late for the Landlord to return to Battery. He showed Marvellous the press house and pointed out the other buildings to her through the windows. He pulled up the boards that covered the cold storage dugouts in the floor, one filled with apples, another with potatoes. The Landlord handed her a ham hock and some onions and told her to make some stew.

"Let's see if you can cook," he said. Marvellous set to work as the Landlord sat at the kitchen table and watched her.

Marvellous chopped and sliced and added spices from a pocket in her jacket. In a while, the Landlord stood up and joined her at the stove.

"Smells good," he said then made a noise of discovery. "I knew there was another one around here somewhere."

He walked over to the shadowed corner beyond the stove and pulled up a handle in the floor. It swung back on hinges and from inside, the Landlord withdrew a ceramic jug.

"Cider," he told her, knocking the handle shut with his foot and returning to the table.

"Could I use some of that for the stew? It'd be better than water. Just a little?"

The Landlord poured a small amount in a mug and passed it to her. She poured it over top of the hot food creating a steam cloud. Her nostrils twitched; the smell of the cider and onions completely overpowered the other spices she'd used.

Over dinner, Marvellous asked the Landlord no questions and he offered no information. He ate quickly and with obvious pleasure. After dinner, he tied her to a bed in the loft upstairs then returned downstairs and emptied the cider jug. He fell asleep where he sat.

In the morning, after a breakfast of apples and biscuits, the Landlord went outside to see to the horses then returned with a crate of food. He set it down, told her to expect him again in two weeks then climbed into the wagon and started up the road.

Marvellous stood at the press house door and watched until she could no longer see or hear him. She scanned the horizon but could see no movement, no sign of her brother. He must be out there somewhere, listening and waiting for his chance to appear.

___

Even though it was the lumbermen's payday, his most profitable of the week at the Piggy Gristle, the Landlord took it slow back to Battery. He didn't want to tire out the horses; they were too valuable. Their easy, regular pace made his attention wander. He was tired. He'd woken up to the smell of apples and a sense of ill ease. He'd fallen asleep at the kitchen table. Hadn't he tied the woman to the bed last night? He felt sure he'd done that. But she'd been up and cooking when he awoke. He'd quickly excused himself and gone outside. In the outhouse he checked his pockets and his wallet and, on his way back, the wagon to make sure she hadn't stolen anything. All was in order.

She was a looker, that was for sure, he thought. Maybe a bit too smart for her own good. He had a fleeting thought that he'd made the wrong choice, but dismissed it. She was like any other woman. All women — and many men — wanted security. He could give her that. Get someone addicted to security and you could make them do just about anything.

He'd have Pierre check on her in a week or so. At the thought of the Constable, the Landlord thought of the children. He'd never asked Pierre what he'd done with them, other than to make sure they didn't end up in one of his camps. Still, he wouldn't mind knowing what had happened to the blonde one. She continued to pop up in his dreams from time to time.

___

The Landlord spotted Josephine grazing with Chester in the field behind Baker's Yard when he returned. His barkeep stabled his horses and started to unload the wagon. He spoke with the man for a while, learning what had gone on in his absence.

"Fine, fine. When you're done here tell Pierre to come and see me," the Landlord told the barkeep.

In due time the Constable arrived and the Landlord told him about the new orchard worker.

"I would appreciate it if you could check in on her in a few days, Pierre."

"Of course. Although if you don't mind my saying so, it seems like a lot of work for one person."

"That's what I told her. But she seemed to think she can do it."

The Landlord shrugged. Some of his best labourers were women. They were easily cowed, typically didn't drink, and almost never stopped working. Perhaps if this Marvellous woman does need people, I ought to hire a few strong young girls, he mused. One in particular came to mind.

"I meant to ask you, Pierre, what happened to all the children from the orchard?"

"A relative took them," PC Pierre said slowly.

"Relative? Didn't think those two had any."

"Hap's father is still alive."

"Really? Live around here?"

"More north."

PC Pierre made a vague gesture with his hand. He didn't owe the Landlord an explanation. It was perfectly legal for a relative to take orphaned children.

The Landlord didn't want to appear too eager for information. As a County employee, Pierre was one of the few people he couldn't control. As the Landlord for the area he used the Constable's services more than most but he couldn't order him to divulge police business.

"Glad to hear that they've landed on their feet."

"Yes sir."

PC Pierre thought that if the new woman at the orchard did end up needing help, the Landlord might consider taking the family back. Much would depend on the woman. He had time to check on her before returning to his summer cabin.

"Oh, and I talked to the lads you hired for the Gristle," he said to the Landlord, his hand on the doorknob. "They shouldn't give you any more trouble."

PC Pierre hated fighting but if someone took a swing at him he would defend himself. The barkeep had told the Landlord that one of the bouncers had gone after the Constable the minute he'd walked through the door. Pierre ducked the punch, came up underneath him and tossed the man into a corner. When the second one saw that, the barkeep said with a smile, he near enough shit his drawers. The Constable sat right down in front of him and had a little chat.

"I couldn't hear what he said, but your guy looked pretty scared," the barkeep had told the Landlord. "Haven't had a problem with 'em since."

"So I heard," the Landlord now said with a smile. "Thank you Pierre."

___

The rain stopped and the sun emerged in the late afternoon. Marvellous had already explored the press house and now she went outside to look for Hap. She checked the barn and the smaller shed beside it; she called his name as she walked the rows of trees, up and down. Finally, she came to the furthest edge of the orchard. To her left she could just make out a trail coming out of the woods. She spotted the bicycle. But where was her brother?

She began to lope across the perimeter between the cliff's edge and the orchard. The land sloped upwards slightly as she got closer and closer to the edge. At a pine tree, its branches hanging out over the valley below and its roots clinging to the side of the cliff, she saw first a boot then a shin then a thigh.

She crouched down beside him on the ground. Hap's eyes were red and his face was streaked with dirt. His soaking wet clothes clung to his body.

"Hap, what happened? Are you all right?"

When he didn't respond, Marvellous slapped him once, hard, across his face. Hap didn't seem to notice.

"This is it," he said. "Home."

"Home?"

"It all came back to me, Marvellous. This is where I live. I have a wife and children Marvellous and I don't know where they are!"

Hap began to sob and leaned heavily against Marvellous. She shifted her weight to keep from toppling over. A distant crack of thunder made her look up. Clouds were beginning to thicken up again; more rain was on the way.

"Come on," she said, standing up and hauling her brother to his feet. "Let's get you home."

___

Bull and Jones had suspended hunting for three days to help with the planting. With the hard work done, and Forest and Jelly minding the crops, the brothers now sat under heavy forest cover waiting for game. Bull had followed his nose, pointing out rabbit and pheasant runs that ran to a small pool of spring water, fed by the same underground river that fed the creek.

"Gathering spot, see? Just have to wait a while."

The brothers sat on the moss-covered remains of a concrete foundation. Jones crouched on one side of it and picked dirt from his fingernails with his smaller knife. Bull sat on a piece of birch bark to keep out the damp. The tops of three of the foundation's walls were just barely visible through the mulch and forest debris. Bull could see that the house had been a large one. He stood and walked into the middle of the structure, crouched down and used a stick to dig down into the earth.

"You ever think of the orchard?" Jones asked.

"Sure," said Bull, not looking up.

"Santa's sure seems happier. She never used to sing at the orchard and her cooking is a lot better than it used to be. Funny that. I don't ever remember her cooking tasting this good. Wonder what happened?"

"No more Ma."

Without Ma looming over her, telling her what to do all the time, Santa had relaxed and become more confident, humming to herself or to Mixer as she did her chores. At the farm, she was able to experiment and was always consulting Jelly on the best herbs to use. Bull was usually pragmatic when it came to food. He had to eat but he didn't think about what he was eating or whether he enjoyed it or not. Now he looked forward to meal times.

"Do you miss it?"

"The orchard? Sure, I guess."

"You guess?"

"Well," Bull said slowly, standing back up "I like hunting but I miss the apples. But here, it's our work, not someone else's. What we do is for us, not for him."

Jones nodded. His brother, he knew, had no fond memories of the Landlord. None of them did but Bull's anger towards him was palpable. He was getting red in the face just talking about him.

"Did something happen with you and him?"

"No."

Bull had never told Jones or anyone else what he knew about the Landlord. The stink of it had been all over him. The first time it had happened Ma had seen Bull wrinkle his nose when he came in for supper that night. Over dinner she'd caught his eye and almost imperceptibly shaken her head at him. He'd never told his father. What could Pa do against the Landlord? The orchard and everything on it, including them, was his.

A tendril of a smell reached Bull's nostril and he held up a finger to his lips to alert Jones. As the odour coalesced in his brain, he raised his index and middle fingers above either side of his head to indicate two rabbits. He pointed.

No matter how often Bull and Jones went hunting together, Bull could never pinpoint the exact moment when Jones moved. He was there one second then gone and back all within moments, two dead hares, necks broken, dangling from his hands.

___

There wasn't much Forest and Jelly could do so soon after planting. It was a waiting game. They harvested the edible weeds that came up in the field and some, like the purslane, dandelions and widow's weed, Jelly dug out and transplanted into the herb garden, which she'd set up at the back of the barn.

In the heat of the afternoon Forest and Jelly would read in the barn. They'd found several thread-bound booklets of varying sizes in a small box. The booklets were filled with lists of plants and numbers: Hay 75B / Corn: 163/B/ac. Onions, potatoes, sweet potatoes, turnips, pumpkins, half a dozen other squash varieties and a dozen other vegetables and legumes all had numbers listed beside them. Fruits were listed in separate booklets: pearl apples, strawberries, raspberries, blackberries, frews and choke cherries. The far column listed the weather for the day. August 5: 98C, humid. Heavy rain (+5"). If the records were accurate there was even more potential on this farm than they'd originally thought.

While Jelly was engrossed in the booklets, Forest found one with a hard cover and thick, cream-coloured pages. He sounded out the title in his head: The Complete Deloran County Law. He flipped through the pages and stopped randomly.

It shall be the Law of the Deloran County, he read, that if any Property owner, upon his or her death, has not designated said Property to an Heir or Heirs, in Writing or in the Company of an Authorized Witness, whomsoever of the persons currently residing on said Property and who has reached the Legal Age, shall be given all rights and privileges to said Property.

He brought the book with him to the dinner table that night. After they'd eaten, he read it out loud.

"What does it mean?" Narrow asked.

"It means," said Forest, "that if Porkchop is twenty or older when Pater dies and we're still here, she'll get the farm."

"Nothing's going to happen to Pater. He's a tough old man," she said.

"But what if Pater died tomorrow?" Jelly asked. "He's been sick once already."

"We'd be right back where we started," said Jones.

"It's not the same this time," Porkchop said. "No one knows we're here."

"The Constable knows," said Titania. She studied her sister closely; Porkchop hadn't told them about PC Pierre inheriting the farm.

Porkchop looked up at her sharply. Had she overheard her and the Constable that night?

"He won't say anything."

"How can you be so sure?"

Titania saw her sister blush.

___

Marvellous said little as Hap told her all about his children and his wife, how he had first come to the orchard and what he knew of the Landlord. What he told her didn't change her own plans but, she realized, she now had something more than herself to fight for. If she reunited Hap with his children then she would have a real family; something she'd never had before.

Her mother had been kicked out of Mrs. Nibbs's bawdy house once it was obvious that she was too far along in her pregnancy to abort; Marvellous was born in a shack near the Andrastyne wharf. There her mother had made a living for the two of them, entertaining the sailors and less affluent businessmen who couldn't afford Mrs. Nibbs.

Her mother was not a stupid woman but had never been trained to do anything other than to be a whore. She made up for it in so many ways. She taught her daughter to read using the Deloran County Law book she had stolen from Mrs. Nibbs and whatever other reading material she could find. She taught her what she knew of plants and how to use them; how to fix things and how to fish. She taught her to gamble and, when Marvellous was nine and got her first period, what herbs would lessen menstrual pain and which would prevent pregnancy.

Her mother talked often about her son, Hap, and about Marvellous' father, whom she'd said was a wealthy landowner from Battery. Marvellous remembered the love she heard in her mother's voice for one; the hatred for the other. When she died of pneumonia, Marvellous was sent to a labour camp in the south to pick lemons and limes.

When she turned twenty and left the camp Marvellous travelled up and down the coast, always managing to find work on farms and in lumber camps. She saved her money and made her plans: how she would travel to Battery and trick her father into giving her his land. Kill him if necessary.

"The best way to survive this world," her mother had told her, "is to own property. If you have property you have a future."

The moment she'd seen the Landlord at the docks she knew it was the man her mother had told her about. He hadn't recognized her; there was no reason why he should have. He'd never seen Marvellous; didn't even know her name. He knew of her, in a vague way, but had never for a moment considered that he was her father.

Years before, on one of his trips to Andrastyne he'd stopped for a few days and had, as always, taken in the pleasantries at the local brothel. He hadn't been to town in several months and was disappointed when Mrs. Nibbs told him why his favourite whore was no longer in service.

"Pity," he said. "Oh well, a whore getting pregnant, not exactly a surprise."

"Damn right, honey. I tell my girls to be careful, but there're always one or two sluts who don't listen."

Marvellous' first step in her plan had been to return to Andrastyne, the closest port to Battery. Travelling by ship was faster but more expensive and she used up most of her savings jumping from ship to ship, travelling north up the coast.

She got stuck in Murray's Arm just outside Andrastyne. She sewed the last of her money inside her jacket along with the paper she'd been given when she left the camp that proved her age, and some of her rarer spices.

In a shrimp shack uphill from the dock, Marvellous had watched the storm clouds roll in. The rain fell in huge drops and the waves crashed against the shore and against the boats moored at the dock. Many would be left badly damaged and unseaworthy for weeks.

The door to the café banged open and a man with a ragged beard came in, dragging five men in irons behind him. He ordered them to sit down then banged on the counter for service. The old man who ran the restaurant stepped out from the kitchen.

"Six coffees," the man said. "And what kind of sandwiches do you have?"

"Only chicory coffee, I'm afraid," said the old man. "I have shrimp rolls or fish sandwiches."

"Gimme six of the sandwiches."

"Mr. Gaines. I — "

"Make it five," he said, spinning around to face the man on the bench who'd spoken. "Didn't I tell you to shut up?"

"No actually, you didn't."

"Well I'm telling you now. Fuckin' picker. More trouble than you're worth. Be happy once I get to Andrastyne and you stop stinking up my ship."

The man called Gaines lit a cigarette. The old man was setting up the coffee mugs on the counter and wrinkled his nose but didn't say anything.

"You're going to Andrastyne?" Marvellous asked.

"What's it to you, girlie?" Gaines said, finally noticing her sitting at a table in the corner.

"I'm looking for work. Heard there may be something in Andrastyne. I'm heading there."

"Good for you."

"Is there room on your ship?"

Gaines blew smoke at her.

"For you, girlie," he said, looking her up and down, "I'll make room."

The weather cleared by the next morning and they sailed for Andrastyne. Marvellous bartered cooking and cleaning skills to pay for her outgoing passage. Leering, Gaines said he would collect the rest of his payment later. The crew complained about the spices that Marvellous used in their food but always cleaned their plates. Once they'd eaten, she served the shackled men the leftovers and ate with them.

They were, one of them told her, free labourers but Gaines had stolen all their money and possessions and was going to sell them in Andrastyne. They had no documents, no papers, no way of proving that they were free men.

"Those labour auctions can be rough," said one of the men one night. "I used to work in Curiz. You get sold to the wrong landlord and your life turns to hell. I've seen it."

"Shouldn't be too bad in Andrastyne," said another. "It's all fruit trees and little farms around there."

"Doesn't matter what the work is," said the first man. "Landlords can be nasty wherever they're from."

"Who's the landlord in Andrastyne?" asked the third.

"No landlord there. It's a city. They have a council," said the fourth. "Nearest landlord to it is from Deloran County, just west of there. I grew up in Port Abram and I used to pick pearl apples in the fall as a teenager. In my day the landlord was a man called Baker but I heard he died a long time ago. No idea who it is now."

Deloran County. Battery was in Deloran County, Marvellous thought. This could be easier than I thought. A local man with orchard experience, however, was competition. All the other men being put up for sale were general labourers with no experience with fruit trees.

She took a small envelope from her jacket and slipped its contents into the man's stew the next night. An hour later he began to complain of stomach cramps. In the morning they found him dead in his bunk. The crew threw him overboard.

The crew began to complain to Gaines about Marvellous. She made them feel strange but they couldn't explain why. Gaines called them a bunch of sissies but to shut them up he shackled Marvellous with the remaining four labourers.

"I went through your stuff," said Gaines as he pocketed the key. "You ain't got no money. Just a bunch of bags filled with spices and who knows what else? I threw it overboard. You're trouble. I'll sell you with this lot."

___

Eventually, Hap ran out of stories to tell and he got up and left the kitchen for a while. Marvellous heard him sniffling and sobbing quietly just outside the door. The rain had stopped and the night sky was clear and star filled and fresh cool air poured into the kitchen. Marvellous closed her eyes and turned her face toward the breeze.

When she opened them again Hap was coming in and closing the door behind him.

"Leave it open," she said.

He propped it open with an empty cider jug and sat in front of the door with his back against a support post and his legs stretched out.

"Hap, I've been thinking. The kids are probably in a camp. It'd be a place to start. You must know some of the camps around here."

He nodded. He remembered. Sad places, filled with children with adult postures. He didn't want to think about Jelly or Forest or Narrow or any of them in a place like that.

"But that would mean something's happened to Mary, my wife."

"Hap you may have to face the fact that something has happened or she'd be here. How old is your oldest? Porkchop?"

At the mention of his daughter's name, Hap stared out into the night.

"Porkchop," he said softly. "She was such a good baby. Such a good daughter." He blinked away the stare. "Lemme see, she'd be nineteen now. I missed her birthday. She'd never leave the others, never."

"Is there anyone else who might know where your children are?"

Hap thought for a while then slapped his forehead with his palm.

"The Constable!"

"Constable?"

"PC Pierre. He'll know. He knows everything around here."

A gust of wind blew through the kitchen. Marvellous shivered.

"Can you trust him?"

Hap told her everything he knew about PC Pierre.

"He's an honest man," said Hap.

___

Forest said that the Solstice would be clear so Porkchop decided that the family should eat dinner outside that night. Bull and Jones had brought home a large pheasant in the early morning hours and it had spent the afternoon roasting over the fire pit in the yard. In the ashes of the pit Santa had poked in some potatoes. They ate the pheasant with the roasted potatoes and fresh greens and herbs. Pater ate quickly then got up to leave.

"Good grub," he said. He nodded to Santa then disappeared into the night.

Bull lit the bonfire and they watched the flames as they digested. Mixer squirmed his way out of Santa's arms and now played in the dirt at her feet.

Eventually, the big dinner and the warmth of the fire took its toll and heads began to nod. Narrow's curly-haired head rested on his chest. Forest and Bull snored. Jelly and Jones sat astride a bench and leaned their backs against each other. Porkchop was bent over the table, her head laid across her folded arms. Soon, even Santa and Titania were asleep.

Mixer watched the flames for a while. He followed a star's movement. In the months since they'd arrived at the farm, Mixer had finally come to the conclusion that, on his own, he could do little to move his plan forward; he had the mental power but not the physical capacity and he would need both to get what he wanted. For that he needed one particular person; but he had to find him first.

For the last few weeks he had practiced throwing his mind but it required solitude and he was rarely alone; either Santa or Titania was always around. The first time he'd done it successfully he'd connected with a boy. The boy was crying and through the gauzy film of his eyes, Mixer could make out a large shape striking down on him. He had hurriedly pulled away.

The next two times he'd connected to an old woman. The first time she was singing:

Oh I knead, knead, knead

It's my creed, creed, creed

Bread will bake, bake, bake

For pity's sake, sake, sake.

Her vision seemed to jerk up and down and Mixer had immediately felt nauseated. A few days later he tried again and found her focused intently on a man's arm. Through her eyes he saw her zero in on a particular area then yank hard. He'd flailed at the sudden movement and cut the connection.

As his family slept around him, he took a deep breath, emptied his mind and cast again, wider this time. He passed over many people he came across; none of them were the right one. The stars tracked across the mid-summer sky and eventually into the void came a voice Mixer had heard before. It was the only voice he'd ever respected. It was loud and obnoxious. He cried out in surprise and delight.

Summer

They'd been working in the fields since dawn and now Jelly, Forest and Narrow came inside the barn, their faces red and dripping with sweat. It was too hot to work in the fields any longer. The daily rains had finally stopped but the humidity had continued; a glue-like air mass that moved in at noon and didn't abate till well after dark. The crates were working to store the rainwater; the children also stored some of it in large glass and ceramic jugs and stashed them in the dugouts to keep the water cool.

"All I'm saying is that we should at least look," Narrow said, going to the nearest dugout and taking out a jar. He drank from it then passed it around. Forest took it from him and sat down on a crate; Jelly hopped up onto the table and waited for Forest to pass the jar to her.

"We don't know for sure that he's dead," he continued. "Remember? Ma wouldn't let us look."

"Narrow, Ma and Pa are both dead. Get used to it," said Forest.

"But I know where the orchard is! I've figured out where it is and how to get there."

From a shelf Narrow took down his maps and unrolled them on the table. Jelly hopped off to make room.

"Here's where we are," he said, pointing at a spot. "If we had to take the roads we'd have to go all round the valley like that, see? That'd take days. Jones could make it across the valley in no time."

Jelly considered Narrow's idea from a different point of view.

"There might be plants we could use, ones that don't grow up here. I still haven't been able to find any cure-all. The pine nuts alone would be worth it. And think of the mushrooms that must be down there, Forest," she said.

Forest liked mushrooms, fried silky soft in fat. He smiled then shook his head.

"Porkchop won't go for it."

"I don't see why not," said Jelly.

___

A rider arrived in Battery from New Key, the administrative capital of Deloran County, with a message for the Landlord.

There'd been trouble at one of his labour camps; one of his foremen had been accused of doctoring birth records. It had been one of the Landlord's earliest schemes; for the cost of redoing a little paperwork, he could milk two, three, sometimes four more years off a child labourer. Most children forgot their birthdays, and a lot of other things, the longer they stayed in a camp.

The foreman knew better than to squeal but the Landlord still had to attend before the magistrate within seven days. New Key was a five-day journey by wagon, likely more if the recent bad weather had washed out some of the roads. He decided instead to take the Port Abram ferry; it was large enough that he could bring Jonathan, his favourite horse, with him. New Key was a sprawling city and on past trips there he'd always found it easier to have a horse than rely on the local wagon service.

___

PC Pierre updated Mrs. Baker. He wouldn't be going to his cabin just yet; he would stop by the orchard first.

Mrs. Baker offered to organize his supplies while he was gone.

"One less thing to worry about, hun," she said. "I'll have everything ready for you when you get back."

She also offered him her horse, Chester.

"Chester'll be faster than Josephine. And that'll give Josephine more time to rest up."

At the top of Hap Road the Constable brought Chester to a stop then blew his whistle three times.

"That's PC Pierre," said Hap, hearing the sound.

"Stay here," Marvellous said.

PC Pierre guided Chester down the road and saw a woman emerge from the press house. She was tall and well muscled with a square jaw that jutted out ahead of her purposeful, almost arrogant walk. She reminded him of someone.

"You must be the Constable. Pierre, is it? The Landlord told me you might stop by."

Marvellous extended a tawny hand as PC Pierre climbed down from the horse. He shook it.

"I'm Deloran County Police Constable Pierre and you are...?"

"Marvellous."

"Marvellous?"

"My mother had a...unique sense of humour."

He noticed Hap's old two-wheeler leaning against one of the storage bins.

"The Landlord asked me to stop by and see how you were getting along. I'm sure you're going to want some hired help."

"Maybe for the picking but that won't be for another three months, maybe less," she said. "There are a couple of varieties that can be picked early. I can do those."

"It's a big job," he said.

"Down south I took care of an orchard almost as big as this and a lot less forgiving." She shrugged. "More workers, more trouble."

"Is that where you're from, the south?"

"That's right."

Marvellous didn't invite him inside. They stood awkwardly in the yard for a few moments. They discussed the weather, what the signs were telling them. He told her about some of the more prolific and beneficial local flora that she might not yet be aware of. When she expressed genuine surprise at his knowledge, it was the Constable who shrugged.

"You learn a lot as a police officer. Plus, one of the...the people who used to live here knew all about plants."

"Was there a family here?" she asked. "There are a lot of beds upstairs."

The Constable was starting to feel strange, as though he was being examined from an angle he couldn't quite see. He forgot her question.

"Well, if you're sure about not wanting any help, I'll be getting on. If you do need me, Battery is at least a full day's walk west. Follow the mains. They take longer but you won't get lost. Ask for me at Mrs. Baker's."

"What happened to them?" Marvellous tilted her head and looked at the Constable. He shivered.

PC Pierre found himself saying, "Their parents died. On the same day, too. The oldest wasn't twenty yet, so they were...removed."

Marvellous nodded her head. Just as she'd suspected.

"Labour camp," she said. She broke eye contact with the officer.

"No. A relative took them."

Marvellous looked back up.

"Must be some relative. Taking in nine children."

I didn't say there were nine, the Constable thought just as Chester, who had till now stood silent beside him, nudged him in the small of his back. PC Pierre stumbled forward slightly.

"All right, all right," he said, turning back to look at the horse.

Marvellous thanked him for the visit, assured him that she didn't need any help then watched him ride away. Back inside, she told Hap what he'd said.

"But I don't have any relatives."

"Is it possible you just don't remember them? Or that you even know about them?"

Hap looked at his sister. He hadn't known about her. His father was dead, probably. He never knew exactly what had happened to him. Maybe there were others. Maybe Mary had relatives he hadn't known about.

At the fork in the road, PC Pierre stopped, dismounted and tied Chester to a nearby tree. He walked back to the orchard and made himself comfortable behind a thick clump of staghorn sumac overlooking the front yard and waited.

___

When Titania got up to leave the barn and return to Pater's house for the evening, Mixer whined in Santa's lap until she put him down. He crawled straight for Titania.

"He seems to want to be with you tonight," said Santa. "Is that all right?"

"Yes, fine," said Titania.

At the house, Titania laid her brother down to sleep in her bed then sat on the front porch and watched the night sky. Mixer put a thought into her head.

When Pater finally arrived home that night, stinking of maple whiskey, Titania was waiting for him. He stumbled inside and fell into a chair. She put a cup of tea and some hard biscuits in front of him and waited until his mouth was full before she began to speak. Behind the curtain, Mixer nodded in satisfaction.

___

Jelly brought the plan to Porkchop who was out in the furrows inspecting the plants.

"You two have done such a good job," she said as Jelly approached. "Everything is growing really well, despite all the rain."

Porkchop rarely praised them for anything. Jelly took advantage of her sister's good mood.

"Since it's doing so well, Forest and I thought we'd take a few days off for a foraging."

Porkchop nodded again.

"We thought we might see what's growing in the valley."

"The valley?"

Porkchop turned and looked down at her youngest sister. Unlike Jones' hair, which he kept short, Jelly's was long. The dark unbrushed strands had eventually intertwined into half a dozen thick bunches that hung down her back like rope. Pa used to say that the twins were as different as chalk and cheese, but Porkchop had always silently disagreed. Their hair was the only thing that distinguished them. Their faces and expressions were identical, even their voices sounded the same.

"I don't know, Jelly. It may not be safe."

"Jones can come with us. He can scout ahead. If there's any trouble, he'll deal with it."

"You'll get lost."

"No we won't, we never get lost! I'll bet there are trails leading down. It's too bad we can't ask Pater."

Pater had disappeared again. Jelly missed having him around. Lately he'd been nicer to them, thanking the boys for the game they provided and Santa for her cooking. He had even grunted approval when he saw Narrow's water crates.

"You'd have to camp overnight if something happened."

"If we leave before dawn I'm sure we could be back before the sun goes down."

"Well..."

"It's starting to dry out and Forest says the skies will be clear for the next while."

Porkchop kicked a rock, felt the jolt of it along her big toenail.

Santa rang the dinner bell and the two of them walked back to the barn. After the meal, Porkchop told the family her decision.

___

The Constable saw Hap pull out the trailer and attach it to the bicycle but by the time he'd untied Chester and returned to the press house Hap had already cycled to the other end of the orchard.

"You owe me an explanation," he said as he banged opened the press house door, catching Marvellous off guard. She was cooking something at the stove and spun around as he strode over to the table.

"He's my brother," she said. "I didn't know if I could trust you. Hap's been through a lot."

"He left nine children."

"He didn't leave them. He couldn't remember."

Marvellous told the Constable what she knew.

"He somehow survived the fall off the cliff but it wasn't until he got back here, with me, that he remembered the children. You were the only person he could think of who might know where they were."

The Constable sighed. He took a seat at the table.

"I'm required by law to tell Hap where his children are. Go get him. I'll wait here."

Marvellous stood for a moment then turned and left. She soon returned with Hap.

"Constable Pierre! How good to see you!" Hap rushed in and gave the man a bear hug. "You know where the children are? You've seen them? Are they okay?"

"They're all fine, Hap. It's good to see you too. Thought we'd lost you."

Hap and the Constable sat down while Marvellous started dinner. She listened as she cooked.

PC Pierre told him everything. How the children were living on a farm and how healthy and well they seemed. He told them about what they planned to grow and about the stag and the feast they'd had that night. Gently he told him what had happened to Mary, his wife. He left out certain details.

"She's buried in a real pretty spot, under a maple. It'll be nice in fall."

"She liked the fall."

PC Pierre nodded. They were silent for a while. The Constable knew what was coming next.

"Marvellous said a relative took them," Hap said finally.

The Constable took a deep breath and told Hap about his father.

"I don't know why he didn't want you to know he was alive," he said when he was finished, "but I couldn't send them to a labour camp without at least trying. He didn't want to at first but he eventually said yes."

"I thought he was dead," Hap said. "He went missing when I was seventeen. One day he was just gone. Never came back. The camp foreman told me to forget about him, that he was probably killed by a bear or drowned in the river."

His face crumpled inwards as though he was about to cry but then he jumped up abruptly from the table and began to shout.

"You have to take me to them! We have to leave right away!" he yelled.

Marvellous turned from the stove, pushed him down into his seat and set his dinner in front of him. PC Pierre had seen only a momentary blur.

"Eat first," she said.

She set plates for the Constable and herself and joined them at the table.

As they ate, PC Pierre considered his duty. He wracked his memory but could think of no specific law on the books that applied to this situation. There was only one thing he knew for sure.

"I'll have to tell the Landlord, Hap."

"I don't care about him," said Hap miserably.

He pushed his plate away and tried to get up again but Marvellous had his ropy forearm gripped in her large hand.

"But I have to see them! They need me! We can all live together at the farm. You too, Marvellous."

"From what the Constable has said I think your father would have something to say about that, Hap," she said. She gently pulled him down.

"You said that his father doesn't like surprises," she said to PC Pierre. "Maybe you should tell him."

PC Pierre nodded. It's what he'd been about to recommend.

"I'm heading to the summer cabin. The farm isn't far from there. I'll take care of it. For now, Hap, you're going to have to be patient. Trust me. Porkchop is looking after them just fine."

Hap stared into space. PC Pierre drew Marvellous outside.

"If Pater won't cooperate, Hap's only chance may be to stay here," he told her. "He's worked this land for twenty years so there may be something under the duty to land laws. I'll look into it when I get back to Battery."

He mounted Chester and spurred him on. He was not looking forward to the Landlord's reaction, even less to Pater's.

___

When PC Pierre arrived back at Baker's Yard he went first to the Piggy Gristle to find the Landlord. The barkeep told him that he'd left for New Key a few days ago.

He went to Baker's Yard and found Mrs. Baker at the kitchen counter, up to her elbows in bread dough.

"I hear the Landlord had business in New Key," he said to her casually. "I have some news for him about one of his tenants. Any idea when he might be back?"

"Well, he took the ferry. And one of his horses. The big black one. Not sure when he might be back, hun. Could be tomorrow, could be next week," she said. "By the way, your supplies are packed and ready in the back shed. Why don't you go on ahead? Now that the roads are starting to dry out I expect we'll be seeing a lot more traffic round here. He can always get word to you by messenger."

PC Pierre went into the main room of Baker's Yard and looked at the books on the shelves. He hadn't read all of them yet and Mrs. Baker sometimes exchanged old ones for new from people who passed through town. There was a pamphlet sandwiched between two books on ploughing equipment and he wiggled it out. It was a Deloran County labour code amendment, dated a few years ago. He didn't recall ever seeing it. He skimmed through it and, near the end, in small print, was a section on pay bonuses for special skills. Among them were numeracy and literacy.

Hap, like many people in Battery, may not have been able to read or write but he knew his numbers well enough, thanks to his wife. If the Constable hadn't known about the requirement, it was doubtful that Hap or Mary had known about it. He was sure that the Landlord had never paid those bonuses. It was blackmail, he thought. Then again, the Landlord was supposed to update him about changes to County laws or procedures. He also thought about all that the Landlord had done to others over the years, all of the things he couldn't prove. It was all he had.

He wrote a letter to the Landlord briefing him on the situation.

Legally, he wrote, I have a duty to ensure that the land is worked. Both have been retained until your decision. Hap knows the orchard and Marvellous will benefit from his experience.

The next morning he left the letter at the Piggy Gristle and set off for the cabin. Despite the extra weight of the Constable's supplies Josephine set a brisk pace.

___

Pater stood in the lookout post and scanned the valley for what seemed the hundredth time. He'd been living in the post for two days, descending only to forage for food.

PC Pierre should have been back at his cabin by now but when Pater arrived he found it empty with no sign or the Constable or his mule. He'd pried open a window, thinking he could at least benefit from the Constable's summer food stocks while he waited but other than a tin of hard biscuits, the cupboards were bare. The only evidence that he'd been there at all that year was a neat stack of firewood and five gleaming traps that hung from one of the walls.

He spent the first night in the cabin, out of the rain, but when it stopped and the heat rolled in, he opted for the breeze from up in the lookout post. He hadn't counted on it taking so long. Titania had said that it would be easy.

"Just tell him what you want and he'll write it down," she'd said.

From his vantage point Pater saw mile after mile of forest, the farm and Honey Hill, and the road in between them that eventually wound its way to the Constable's cabin. He could just see the roof of the cabin and the shed where Josephine slept.

After staring so long at the constantly shifting shades of green Pater had started to think, something he usually tried to avoid.

He'd run out of maple whiskey and his thoughts turned to the children. They had, for the most part, made his life easier, not harder as he'd feared. The rabbit he caught last night was the first meat he'd killed himself in months. He never had to cook anything and he probably would have died last winter had it not been for the girl twin.

They were all a little odd but none more than the youngest. The boy gave him the peculiar feeling that at any moment he would open his mouth and begin speaking in a voice not his own. Even Titania's shifts weren't as bad. Sometimes, she'd have dull red hair and a series of long jagged scars on her face; at others she was the spitting image of Hap's mother. That was the face she'd worn the other night; it was the face that he couldn't say no to and the one he recalled now.

"Pater, you're going to do something for me," she said the night before he'd come to the cabin.

She explained that since Porkchop was almost twenty she wanted him to change his will to make her the heir.

"The Constable's sure to be at his summer cabin by now," she had said. "You can leave tomorrow and be back in time for dinner. Why wait?"

Pater couldn't think of a reason. Despite their oddities, the children worked hard, knew what they were doing and didn't make much noise. He respected little, but he respected that. They were certainly better than squatters.

The shriek of a merlin made him look up to his right. He scanned the sky till he spotted it; the hawk flew by with a limp pigeon between its talons. When he again lowered his gaze he saw on the road in the distance Josephine pulling the cart with PC Pierre in it.

___

Jelly, Jones and Forest left before dawn. Narrow gave Jelly his map and she promised to add anything new to it as they travelled.

"I wish I could go with you," he said.

"You're not going with them," said Porkchop. "You get sidetracked too easily. Jelly and Forest won't have time to look for you when you wander off."

Narrow had told them it would take about three hours to reach the edge of the valley but Forest and the twins arrived in less than two. They looked for signs of old pathways. Jones disappeared through the trees and returned moments later. He whistled for their attention and beckoned them over.

Large white pines shaded an old, well-worn foot path. It was wide enough for the three of them to walk side by side and it switched back and forth until it narrowed to single file through a hallway of enormous granite boulders. After an hour, the three emerged into the sun-filled meadow at the bottom of the valley.

They stopped to eat and drink and to consult Narrow's map. From their new vantage point, it seemed a lot longer to the orchard side of the valley than Narrow had estimated.

"What do you think?" Jelly asked her twin brother who was slouched against a giant rock more than three times his height. Jelly remembered what the Constable had told them all those months ago and wondered if this boulder had once been part of Honey Hill.

In the blink of an eye, Jones was atop the boulder. He shaded his eyes with his hand.

"I could do that in no time," he called down to them. "Coupla hours."

"Do you remember where to look?"

"Oh yeah. Pa went over near that weird pine tree that juts out over the edge of the cliff. I can see it from here."

___

From upstairs in the loft, Narrow watched his brothers and sister move across the farm and disappear into the woods. In the heat, both loft doors had been flung open; they only closed them when a storm came through. Narrow sat on the edge of the door frame with one foot on the top rung of the ladder, idly swinging it back and forth. He'd let his leg extend out, his bare toes gripping the wooden rung then bend his knee, returning the ladder to the frame and making a small bonk each time it hit the wood.

___

The Landlord bribed the magistrate in New Key and quickly settled his business. He spent the night at an inn and the next morning shopping for a new suit and boots. In the afternoon when he was ready to leave he discovered that there was no return ferry to Port Abram large enough to take both him and his horse.

"Sorry, sir, but the ferry you need is gonna be another two days getting here," said the port master.

He didn't want to wait any longer than he had to in New Key — only bureaucrats and business men lived there with their proper wives and silent children, and it had none of the more appealing services offered by a town like Andrastyne — but he had no choice. It would be at least a two-day ride to Battery and it was too late to leave now. He stayed another night and left after a late breakfast. He could break the trip up and spend a night at PC Pierre's cabin.

The Landlord reached Honey Hill just before sundown. He hadn't been out this way for a long time. One time, many years ago, he'd been on his way to New Key and a crazy old man wearing red long johns had jumped out from behind some bushes and scared his horse. He had almost lost control and fallen off but had regained the reins and settled the animal. By then, the old man had scampered away.

Back in Battery later that week the Landlord had described the man to PC Mark, Pierre's father. He said that the man was an old survivalist; a loner with no family. He had a sizeable farm but only seemed to grow enough food for himself. His land would eventually come open or could be arranged to come open. The Landlord had meant to keep tabs on him but with all his other land dealings and labour camp issues, he never had time to revisit the area for any length of time and, eventually, he forgot about him.

He hitched his horse and climbed Honey Hill. At the plateau he stopped to catch his breath. Pines blocked most of his view of the lookout post near the cabin but just in case the Constable was in it, the Landlord waved his arm back and forth in one long arc. He then continued up the slope to the top and immediately saw the farm below.

The property was a good size, several acres, with a large barn and a house. There were rows and rows of crops growing in the field behind the barn. He could make out tall corn stalks supporting rows of beans. It was far too much food for one man. The Landlord knew all the crop distributors between Andrastyne and New Key and the old man was not one of them.

He watched as the door to the barn suddenly opened and one of the orchard children, one of the daughters, emerge. She had blonde hair and, despite her baggy trousers, he could see she had a good figure. She filled a bucket from the cistern and went back inside. From this distance he couldn't be sure it was the same one; he seemed to recall that at least two of them had been blonde. Still, he could call her up in his mind in a heartbeat. How beautiful she was, how she stole into this thoughts more nights than not, even those nights when he wasn't alone. And there was no parent hovering over her now.

Well, there's the old man. He must be the relative, he thought, remembering what PC Pierre had told him. Figures they'd be related to a crazy old coot like that.

He watched the property for a while longer but no one else appeared. The sun had almost set by the time he reached Jonathan. He headed towards the Constable's cabin; he would go to the farm tomorrow morning.

___

With the Constable's return Pater had been about to descend the lookout post when he caught sight of a figure descending Honey Hill. He recognized him in an instant. There wasn't a person in the county who didn't know who the Landlord was. He was the man who had kicked the children off the orchard and made them his responsibility.

He kept sight of him as he rode along the road and turned down the side trail that led to the Constable's cabin.

Pater wasn't sure what to do. It had already taken this long for the Constable to show up and he couldn't go to see him now that the Landlord had shown up; he didn't want that man knowing his business. But why was he there? Was he trying to steal his land? His soul ached for a drink. Titania wasn't going to be happy with him.

By the time he reached the bottom of the ladder Pater's mind was already at his still, deep in the woods on the other side of Honey Hill.

___

Long grasses zippered open and closed around Jones as he moved through the valley. Every so often he had leapt onto a boulder or scrambled up a tree to check his progress. Less than two hours after he'd left his sister and brother, Jones stood at the base of the cliff. The familiar crooked pine tree hung above him. Beyond that tree was the orchard. Home.

Jones wasn't unhappy on the farm. But neither had he been unhappy at the orchard. Like his sister, he was calm and observant and not much fazed him. He had more freedom here; he and Bull came and went as they pleased, going where the game went. When he wasn't with Bull he was free to be with any of his other sisters and brothers or alone if he chose. But something about the farm wasn't right. A feeling wasn't there. The farm didn't feel like home.

Jones searched for signs of his father's body. Blood stains. Fabric. Bone. He found nothing but he knew that didn't necessarily mean anything. There was a thick, springy bed of water moss at the base of the cliff. Jones jumped up and down on it a few times. If Pa had landed on it, in just the right way, he could have survived the fall. His father could be alive but he could just as easily be dead, killed by a predator and his body dragged away. The heavy spring rains would have washed away any remaining evidence.

Jones sat down to think. He leaned against a boulder facing the cliff edge and watched as turkey vultures glided above him. The sun was bright and he shut his eyes.

He opened them to someone he'd never seen before. A woman with a wide face was looking down at him. She held a large pruning knife at her side, the point of its curved blade facing upwards. He scrambled to his feet.

"Who are you?" she asked.

Jones had instinctively calculated his escape route but the moment he moved she appeared in front of him. He tried another route; she beat him to it.

"So," she said, "you're one of us. A defective."

"No! We're not!"

"We?"

"I'm not," he said, flushing.

She apprised him. He was skinny and had a narrow face and dark brown, almost black hair, slicked back with sweat. His eyes were green, like her brother's.

"Your name is Jones, isn't it? You're, let's see, number seven. You were born a minute ahead of your sister Jelly."

Jones backed up a pace. The woman moved forward a step.

"You can't run from me. Besides," the woman said, sheathing the knife, "don't you want to see your Pa?"

___

Jelly and Forest scouted for plants while they waited for Jones to return. They stopped for lunch when the sun was overhead. They could only carry so much back so they'd carefully selected which plants to bring with them. As they'd foraged Jelly had marked down other plants' locations so that they could find them on future trips.

"Too bad we don't have a Josephine," Forest said.

"Or a horse," said Jelly. "A horse might be better."

"Horses are expensive. Why do you think the Constable rides a mule?"

"Oh I think he likes Josephine," she said. She munched on clover flowers. "You know, Narrow might be able to come up with something."

"Like what?"

"I don't know. But he's always got an idea for something. Just like Pa used to."

Forest finished his lunch and glanced in the direction of the cliff, far across the valley floor.

"I wonder where he is?"

"He's all right," said Jelly. Ever since they could remember, the twins had had a sense of each other, as though they were still physically joined. Another heart that beat a second ahead of her own.

___

Marvellous helped Jones up the cliff face and walked him to the press house where he was enveloped in his father's arms. He couldn't breathe very well but he didn't care. It was wonderful to see his father again. He smelled better than he remembered.

"The boy can't breathe, Hap," said Marvellous. Hap started and jumped back holding onto Jones' shoulders.

"I'm sorry, son! Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Pa."

They hugged again, gentler this time.

When each had caught the other up and Jones had told his father that Jelly and Forest were waiting for him in the valley, Hap leapt from his seat.

"I'll come back with you," he said. "It'll be a surprise!"

"Hap," Marvellous said, "think about it. You wouldn't be able to keep up with Jones! It'd be dawn before you reached the other side."

"You could come back with me, though," Jones said without thinking. He looked at Marvellous; he liked her. "You kept up with me."

"What do you mean?" Hap asked.

"Marvellous. She's as fast as me!" Jones said.

"This is news to me," Hap said. "Since when?"

"Since always Hap. There's a lot we still don't know about each other."

"Okay, well, now that I know you have to go! Please, please! Find my children, Marvellous! Tell them I'm okay and that I'll see them as soon as I can."

Hap started to cry. Jones stood up and hugged his father.

"It's okay Pa."

Her brain raced forward. If the Landlord returned to the orchard and failed to find her there, found only Hap instead, there was no telling what he might do. Then again, the Constable hadn't been gone that long. That probably meant that she had some time before the Landlord found out. Could she afford to chance it? The children meant everything to her brother and he had come to trust her completely. If he couldn't see the children for himself, she was the next best thing. The thought of a longer journey was also appealing. Since being at the orchard Marvellous had raced around the property, slaloming through the pearl apple trees more than once, relishing the feel of the wind rushing by her. In the end, and for no other reason than the cat was out of the bag, she relented.

She packed a few things and thought about what Hap had told her about the children, their personalities and their defects. He'd called them talents. He hadn't said if any of them were sensors — Jones certainly wasn't — but for their own protection Marvellous hid her thoughts from view. She closed her eyes and concentrated for a moment.

"I'll be back by sunrise tomorrow," she promised her brother. Jones led her back.

___

PC Pierre was unloading the cart when the Landlord rode into the yard.

"Ah Pierre, good, you're here," he said. He dismounted.

"Yes sir. How was your trip to New Key?"

"Oh you heard about that, did you? I suppose my aunt told you?"

"No sir. Your barman told me when I asked. Mrs. Baker only told me that you'd taken Jonathan on the ferry with you." The Constable nodded to the Landlord's large black horse that stood silently behind his rider.

"Did she? I'll be staying the night. If you don't mind."

"Not at all. I have something to discuss with you anyway."

The Landlord half expected the Constable to offer to tend his horse but he had turned and walked into the cabin carrying a crate. He was chopping onions when the Landlord returned from stabling Jonathan. The Landlord took a seat then removed a flask from his inside jacket pocket and sipped.

"So, what's this you have to tell me?"

PC Pierre tossed the onions into a frying pan. They sizzled in a pond of hot fat. He added water, then some dried venison and vegetables and let it simmer.

"Hap is alive," he said.

"Hap? Orchard Hap? You told me he fell off the cliff."

"He did but somehow survived the fall. He's back at the orchard. The woman you hired, Marvellous, found him. He seems to have lost his memory. When I questioned him he said that he had no memory from before the accident."

PC Pierre saw the Landlord narrow his eyes. He was getting impatient.

"As you know sir the duty to land laws are quite clear about productivity," he continued. "Hap already knows the orchard and Marvellous agreed to the arrangement. At least until I could inform you."

The Landlord relaxed his shoulders and leaned back in his chair. He should know better than to think the Constable would do anything against the law.

"But how did he get there?"

"Marvellous told me that she found him by the edge of the cliff. He must have climbed back up."

"Well, well, this is interesting."

"Interesting sir?"

"That I find out that Hap is alive on the same day that I see his children," he said. "Yes, Pierre I found out where you put them. Well, one of them at least. But if there's one, the others can't be far away." Like rats, he thought. "I stopped by Honey Hill and got a good view of that farm. An old man used to live there if I remember."

When PC Pierre didn't respond the Landlord said, "He's the relative."

"Yes sir."

"Hap always was good with the apples," said the Landlord, stroking his chin. He needed a shave; his fingers made a rasping sound as they moved over his face. "It's a pity you don't drink, Pierre. Hap's cider was the best I've ever tasted."

"I've had his fresh cider, sir, and I agree. Best around."

Hap, the Landlord thought, was the type of sap who would want his children back and that would mean more money; a man with children had to be paid the county family labour rate but Marvellous worked at a fraction of that. But the thought of going back to, potentially, subpar cider didn't appeal to him either. He had always fetched a premium for Hap's cider that more than made up for the extra labour costs and he had hated to lose it.

The Constable stirred the meat and vegetables. PC Pierre liked Hap. He was a good man but easily distracted and before his wife died she'd kept him focused on what he needed to do. From what he'd seen of their relationship at the orchard Marvellous had picked up where Mary had left off. Without her to look out for him and the children, the Landlord would take advantage of them wherever he could.

He had a pretty good idea of just how much money the Landlord had lost without Hap and was counting on the Landlord being greedy enough to take him and the children back. He wasn't as sure that he would keep Marvellous. If all else failed, what he knew of the unpaid bonuses could help him broker a deal that helped everyone.

PC Pierre ladled the stew onto plates and set them on the table. The Landlord reached into his pocket, withdrew a small container of salt and sprinkled it liberally over the food. They ate in silence.

The Landlord thought about the man who owned the farm. He remembered him as being old all those years ago; he must be ancient by now. If the children were sent back to the orchard, it wouldn't take much to dispatch the geezer and snatch the land. The farm would make a handy stopping point on the way to New Key and he could move Marvellous to it and let Hap and his brood tend his orchard.

"Very nice Pierre. Thank you."

As the Constable took the dishes and began to wash up, the Landlord picked a piece of meat from between his teeth, inspected it then popped it back in his mouth and swallowed.

"I've decided. Hap stays at the orchard. As you pointed out, it only makes sense for someone with know-how to be working the land."

"He'll be happy to hear that. The children will be thrilled when I — "

"I'll tell them. It is my land after all," he said. "Besides, I've known them all their lives. I'm like an uncle to them."

"Yes sir."

___

Jones had raced ahead to the farm with the news then raced back to join Marvellous, Jelly and Forest for the return journey. In the late afternoon the four of them arrived at the farm, each carrying several bundles of plants.

They talked late into the night. Marvellous had been pleasantly surprised by how much Titania looked like her mother, the children's grandmother, but said nothing to them about it. Marvellous watched the children's faces and listened closely to their stories about Ma, Pa and Pater, and all that they had done with the farm. They were so eager to tell her all they had accomplished. She was genuinely impressed by their work and praised them. Mixer watched Marvellous for a while but found little in her mind of use; she was harmless.

"When can we go back?" asked Santa.

Porkchop was happy to learn her father was alive but wasn't sure she wanted to return to the orchard. They had survived the winter, settled in, the harvest looked good. If they went back now who would look after the farm? Their hard work and care would go to waste.

"It would make more sense," Porkchop said, "for Pa to come here."

"It probably would but it depends on a few things," said Marvellous. "Your grandfather for one." She told them of the Constable's visit and what he had told her and their Pa.

At the mention of PC Pierre's name, Porkchop flushed.

"You'll have to be patient," Marvellous said, trying to hide a smile. She knew what was in Porkchop's heart.

Even if Hap had told her nothing about the children she would have known their differences. As they talked she looked inside their minds and their hearts. She hadn't seen much goodness in the world and it was a relief to experience such innocence.

But then she'd come to Mixer. He didn't look like any of his brothers or sisters on the outside, she thought; they tended to be long faced and thin like their father and Mixer had much larger features. But it was the inside that disturbed her the most. She could feel his cold greed and hatred. She knew of only one other who had both in such abundance.

When it was her turn to talk, Marvellous told them how she'd met their Pa and how she'd worked out that he was her brother. She told them about her travels and a few stories of their grandmother. She left out many details.

Mixer struggled to stay awake but fell asleep in Santa's arms. Marvellous monitored Mixer's dreams. She almost swore out loud when she discovered he'd been able to contact the Landlord. She was both amazed and worried by what he'd been able to do at such a young age.

Soon they were all yawning and nodding and Marvellous suggested it was time to go to bed. They trooped up to the loft without argument; Titania took the sleeping Mixer from Santa and left for the house.

Marvellous cleaned up the dishes then sat down at the table, her mind trained on the boy.

___

Mixer woke up beside Titania. He had no memory of coming back to the house. He rolled over and flinched when he saw her face. She would have to change for tomorrow; he got to work.

When he was done and pleased with the result he cast about for the Landlord. He connected almost immediately. His loud, boastful voice was unmistakeable.

Mixer had a blurry view through the Landlord's eyes; like looking through one of Jelly's plastic bags. He saw traces of things, outlines. Then he made out a familiar human shape standing in front of trails of reds and oranges that wavered just below his waist. It was PC Pierre standing in front of the fireplace in his cabin.

"I was about your age, Pierre," Mixer heard the Landlord say. "Young, full of dreams. The bear came out of nowhere, charged me. I didn't think twice. I shouldered my rifle and I shot her dead. Shot her cubs, too. It was the only humane thing to do."

Mixer admired the real image that was inside the Landlord's mind: the dead black bear caught and dying in a bear trap, two cubs crying beside it.

"Well, early start tomorrow. Don't want to wait another minute to give the children the good news, eh?"

Mixer waited until the Landlord fell asleep then implanted a vision of his sister in his dreaming brain.

___

Marvellous didn't have time to be horrified by what Mixer had planned. She woke up Porkchop and Santa.

"Be quick but quiet," she whispered to them from the ladder. "Meet me out back."

The girls found their aunt in Jelly's herb garden. She drew them away from the barn and the open loft doors and out onto the edge of the field.

"There is a chance," she said to them, "that the Landlord will show up soon. Tomorrow."

Santa rubbed her eyes. "The Landlord?" she asked sleepily.

"How do you know?" asked Porkchop.

Marvellous paused then said quietly, "Mixer."

From her peripheral vision Porkchop saw Santa quickly turn and look at her.

"Mixer? That's silly!" she said to Marvellous.

Marvellous took Santa's hands in her.

"Santa, you know, you both know what I'm talking about. There's something just not right about Mixer, is there? He's not slow. He's defective, but not like the rest of us." Santa winced at the word. "He means to do you harm."

Porkchop looked down at her boots. She had never admitted to anyone in her family that she disliked her brother. But it sounded right to her, what Marvellous was saying. He was different from the rest of them. She hadn't wanted to admit that to herself until now.

"No. I won't believe it," whispered Santa.

"He's already contacted the Landlord. He's bringing him here. I know what he's capable of. What they're both capable of. But I'm going to need your help."

"What do we have to do?" said Porkchop.

Marvellous took charge. She handed Santa a packet of oval shaped reddish-brown seeds and told her how to prepare them. She told Porkchop to send the other children off to their chores as early as possible in the morning.

"You'll have to be ready for him. Santa, you stay in the barn and don't let Mixer out of your sight. Give the Landlord the tea; that should knock him out for hours. If all else fails hit him with something. I'll take care of things from there."

"What about Titania?" Santa asked. "The Landlord, well, he likes Titania."

"You leave that to me," said Marvellous. "That reminds me, Porkchop, it's very likely that PC Pierre will show up with him."

Porkchop blushed in the dark.

"Remember, he may be your friend but he's still an officer of the law. He won't look kindly on the Landlord being drugged, or worse, so it's probably best if you take him off the farm."

"Where?"

"Up the road, I don't know. Just get him away from the farm when they arrive. Maybe," she lowered her voice so that Santa couldn't hear, "find out if he feels the same way you do."

___

Marvellous disappeared into the night; she didn't tell the girls where she was going but said she'd be back soon.

She walked to the farthest end of the field and lay down between the corn stalks. She closed her eyes and called up the image of her mother in the photograph she'd given Hap back in Andrastyne. How slender her mother was in that checked dress; how the sun made one side of her flat brown hair glow auburn. She took a breath and cut her tie to Mixer. She'd need all of her concentration for this.

She had only changed that one time, when she was a girl and had changed a few minor details about herself, but she felt certain that she would be able to project the image of her mother. Not for long but she didn't think she would need much time; the Landlord only had to see her once. He would remember. And then she would kill him.

___

Dawn was breaking when Santa set about brewing the tea as Marvellous had instructed. Porkchop let her brothers and sisters sleep in a bit before setting them to their chores. They were disappointed not to have had a chance to say goodbye to Marvellous but Porkchop told them she had promised Pa to be back by morning.

When the rest had gone, Santa brought out a wooden crate filled with two jars of tea and tubs of pigweed porridge for Titania's and Pater's breakfast.

"Where's the other one?" Porkchop asked. Santa knew she was talking about the other jar.

"Out of harm's way. Don't forget to bring Mixer back with you."

"I won't."

She left the barn and crossed the yard to the house.

Inside the house, Titania opened her eyes and immediately felt different. Mixer lay asleep beside her. She looked at her hands. The skin was smooth, the fingers long and the nails cleaned and shaped but she could still see the scars on her hands below the surface. She drew a strand of hair in front of her eyes. It was blonde. She didn't need to look in the mirror to know that it was the disguise she wore whenever the Landlord had visited. She looked at her brother asleep beside her. As soon as she looked at him she knew. She was about to get up when she heard the door open and close.

When Porkchop crossed the threshold she was bombarded by the smell of maple whiskey and the sound of Pater's snoring. He had returned sometime in the night.

"Titania?" she called, setting down the crate.

"I'm in here but don't get too close," Titania called from her cubbyhole. She grabbed at her shawl and pulled it over her head. "I think I'm getting a summer cold."

Porkchop swallowed hard. She was about to put her trust in Marvellous to the test. But she did trust her; just as she'd trusted Ma. What was the worst that could happen? Titania would sleep all day. She'd done that before.

"Then you should have your tea at least, and eat something."

Porkchop unpacked the box and set the things on the table.

"Don't go to any trouble."

"The trouble's been and gone."

"All right. Thank you."

"Pater's back by the smell of things. He should have something to eat and drink when he wakes up. Can you make sure he does? Oh, and is Mixer with you?"

"Yes. Here."

Mixer emerged from the curtain and dropped to the floor. He crawled to the door and looked back over his shoulder at Porkchop expectantly.

She picked up her brother at the waist and carried him under her arm back across the yard to the barn. There was a smell to the air — a metallic tang that settled on her tongue — that she associated with thunderstorms. But that couldn't be right; Forest would have known about a storm and said something. She looked up. The sun was brilliant and the day already had the feeling that it would be hot. Only one thin band of white cloud marred an otherwise clear sky.

Titania waited till she heard the barn door slam then got up and looked into the mirror above the stove. Even though she knew what she'd see it was still a shock. She sat down heavily at the table and reached for one of the two jars of tea.

___

Bull and Jones walked into the woods along the now well-trodden path. Jones loped easily, thinking of Pa and the orchard. Bull felt uneasy; Porkchop had told them that Marvellous had left but he could still smell her, or at least he thought it was her, not far off. His sense of smell was always a little bit worse in late summer when some of the grasses began to go to seed; at the orchard it hadn't been much of a problem because they'd kept the grasses and weeds cut short around the pearl apple trees. When they hit the first fork in the trail, he headed east. The eastern trail sloped to the south, and looped behind the fields. He wanted to keep an eye on things and he was prepared to send his brother on a few wild goose chases if he had to, to keep him safe.

___

Jelly, Forest and Narrow dug up potatoes and onions. The sun was barely up but it was already hot. It wasn't long before a film of dirt settled on their sweaty faces.

Narrow peppered Jelly with questions about their journey. Jelly told him all about it; how Jones had gone ahead to the orchard and their surprise when he arrived back with Marvellous. She told him all she knew about the plants they'd brought back with them.

"I'll dry most of it, for teas and medicines," she said. "I transplanted the ones we dug up into the herb garden when we got back yesterday."

Narrow exhausted his questions and they harvested and weeded in silence for a while. Forest had been quiet all morning. Minutes passed before Narrow stopped and straightened his back. He rubbed the dirt and sweat from his face with his shirt tail.

"What's the point of all this? We don't even know if we're going to be here in a month."

"We still need to eat," said Jelly. "We can bring it with us."

"I'm not so sure I want to go," said Narrow. "Porkchop's right. Pa should come here. There's more food here and he wouldn't have to work for the Landlord."

"What about Pater? And Marvellous?" Forest suddenly said. He hacked viciously at a weed and missed, slicing into his thumb instead. He yelped.

"Forest!" Jelly's handkerchief was already out and she wrapped it tightly around his thumb. "Are you okay?"

No I'm not okay, he thought. Don't you feel it? He winced as sudden pain shot through his head.

"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.

"Here you are," she said, setting it down in front of him. "I didn't think you'd want a hot drink on a day like today."

The Landlord looked at the chipped dishes and snorted. He grabbed one of the biscuits and bit into it. His face was blank for a moment as he chewed but soon he smiled. It was good. He took a sip of the tea, then another. From a jar Santa refilled the small tea cup and when she went to put it away, he stopped her, putting a hand on her arm.

"Leave it."

Santa set the jar down in front of him.

"Would you excuse me?" she said to him. "I have a few things to do."

Santa surreptitiously surveyed the barn eyeing all of Mixer's usual hiding places but he wasn't in any of them. She climbed the ladder but he wasn't in the loft. She looked out the back door but could see only Jelly, Forest and Narrow moving up and down the fields in the distance. She stepped out to look around.

Inside the Landlord took out his flask and topped up the cup.

Out on the road, the rumble of thunder took the Constable off guard, too.

"It seemed like it was going to be such a nice day today," he said to Porkchop. He had to walk quickly to keep up with her.

Porkchop hadn't said a word to him since the farm yard. She wasn't surprised by the thunder; she was surprised that her brother hadn't warned her. When she thought they'd walked far enough, she stopped. She turned to face him.

Marvellous opened her eyes and was momentarily confused by the ears of corn above her. Then she heard some of the children's voices close by and remembered. She drew a strand of brown hair in front of her eyes. When Jelly, Forest and Narrow looked up as the thunder rolled by, Marvellous raced past their backs. She heard a noise as she came up to the outhouse and peeked inside the crescent moon that was cut out in the door. Inside, Pater sat, pants-less, leaning against one wall. His head and shoulders drooped to his chest. He snored.

Satisfied that he'd drunk the tea and would be asleep for a while, Marvellous entered the house and went straight to Titania's bed. She caught her breath when she saw the sleeping girl as the Landlord saw her. Marvellous could see the scars and pock marks of the girl's real skin below the surface. She shut the curtain and lay down in Pater's cubby hole. She left the curtain ajar and waited.

___

Mixer emerged from one of the storage dugouts. It was half-full of yellow onions and he stood on top of one of the burlap sacks. He wobbled only slightly. He regarded the Landlord, seated at the table, his back to him, and threw out a mental order. He wasn't sure it would work but was pleased to see the Landlord immediately straighten in his seat, the tea cup paused halfway to his mouth. He set it down, stood up unsteadily and lumbered to the back of the barn. He lifted the wooden bar and lowered it across the back doors.

Mixer explored the Landlord's thoughts. His mind felt slow and it was thick with images of women. The picture he saw most often was the changed face of Titania, but there were also flashes of his mother. Some of the images showed a woman with brown hair and a pointy face. Her face looked familiar. The Landlord's inner voice sounded weak and pitiful. Mixer scowled.

The Landlord shook his head back and forth, like an animal trying to eject a biting insect from its hide. On his way back to the table he noticed Mixer standing in the hole in the floor.

"Hey!" he exclaimed. The Landlord saw a funny looking kid wearing a winter coat even though it had to be close to a hundred degrees outside. He laughed.

"Hey little fella, look at you dressed all snazzy. Which one are you? Are you the one what's-her-face was looking for? Hey! You know anything about a blonde sister? Really pretty?"

A flash of lightning lit up the inside of the dim barn; a slow roll of thunder followed. The Landlord blinked once, slowly. Mixer was suddenly revolted with the man. How could he have thought that this buffoon was powerful? He had envied the man's command, admired his ruthlessness but he had been wrong. This man, who he had hoped and come to believe was his real father, was just like the other one, a useless drunk.

He hurled his anger at the man, who staggered back a few steps.

"Hey little fella, I don't feel so well," the Landlord slurred, swaying to and fro where he stood.

Mixer stamped his foot on the bag of onions, his arms straight by his sides. He waggled his fingers against his thighs and mentally threw everything he had at him. The Landlord had time only to wonder why he seemed to be standing half inside a floor before he passed out.

It took Mixer a moment to gain his balance. His body felt strange; larger. He realized he was looking at a spot on the back barn door he'd only seen from several feet below. He looked down. His feet had become enormous! He took a step, stumbled a bit but soon got the hang of it. He practiced for a minute then walked over to the dugout. With one foot he pushed the little body onto the onion pile then lifted the lid and let it drop across the opening. He spun around, left the barn and strode across the yard. Titania would be the first to go.

___

After checking by the creek and with Jelly if she'd seen Mixer, Santa slowly returned to the barn. Mixer liked to play in the dirt so he could be anywhere. When she finally reached the barn she found it barred from the inside. Her heart pounding, she ran round to the front and inside but neither Mixer nor the Landlord was there; only the empty tea jar and the cup and saucer stood on the table. From the top of the woodstove she picked up the heavy pan.

___

Porkchop and PC Pierre kissed for a long time. Porkchop had been looking at her boots, about to speak, about to tell him that she knew about their father and Marvellous and everything. Instead, she had stepped forward, tilted her face upwards and kissed him. It took him a moment to overcome his surprise but the Constable kissed her back and didn't stop even when a flash of lightning lit up the sky around them.

___

Jones was getting hot and impatient. They'd been out in the woods for hours and everything Bull had sniffed out had turned out to be nothing.

"Maybe your nose is off," Jones said.

"My nose isn't off," Bull said irritably. He'd woken up with a stuffy-headed feeling but Porkchop had hustled him and Jones out of the barn before he'd been able to ask Jelly for something that might help his allergies.

They now stood in a shelter of small pines on a shelf overlooking the back field. He saw the corn plants whipping back and forth in the wind. The wind shifted and Bull lifted his head.

"C'mon," said Bull, hurrying down the path toward the field. "Stay with me, don't run ahead."

___

Mixer stepped into Pater's house and banged the door shut behind him but it didn't latch. He headed for Titania's bed but was distracted by the slender foot sticking out of Pater's cubbyhole. He walked over and twitched the curtain aside, admiring the way he was able to manipulate the hands so well already.

"Who are you?"

Marvellous tightened her fingers around the pruning knife in her hand. He didn't recognize her! She opened her eyes. In that instant she saw in his face that he didn't know who she was. After all this time, after all she'd been through he didn't remember her mother and that made Marvellous angry. She brought the pruning knife up and in the moment that she dropped her disguise to give the Landlord one chance to see his daughter before he died at her hand, Mixer's thoughts came flooding into her brain. She immediately jerked the knife back. She was sure that she had retracted the knife in time but the body toppled over onto her anyway. Santa stood in his place holding the frying pan with both hands like a bat.

The last thing Mixer remembered before crashing to the floor was that the woman in the bed looked like the woman in the Landlord's thoughts.

"Marvellous! You're back." Santa put the pan down on the table and looked around. "Where's Titania?"

"Sleeping like a baby. You made the tea just strong enough. Your grandfather's asleep in the outhouse."

Santa, adrenaline still rushing through her after bashing the Landlord over the head, giggled.

Marvellous rolled the body off her and onto the floor then kneeled down to inspect him. She felt his pulse; it was rapid. She scanned his unconscious mind and saw tendrils of green and black flow across it. She shivered. If Mixer had taken over the Landlord, where was the Landlord?

"Santa, knock it off," Marvellous said standing up. Santa stopped giggling. She was satisfied that Mixer would be out cold for a while. Maybe she could think of a way to return them to their right forms without the children knowing. "Where's Mixer?"

Santa looked worried. "I don't know. He disappeared while I was seeing to the Landlord. He's not in the barn."

"We have to find him." She grabbed Santa by the arm and dragged her out the door. They ran to the barn and quickly searched it but couldn't find Mixer. They unbarred the back door and Santa rang the mealtime bell to alert the others before she and Marvellous headed for the fields.

___

The clang of a bell woke him. He groaned as he stood up, rubbing the back of his head where Santa had hit him. He saw the frying pan on the table and picked it up; hefted it in his hand. He left the house and loped for the barn, his head still aching. In the distance he could see the figures of his brothers, sisters and Marvellous methodically searching every row.

Inside the barn it was quiet. He strode across the floor and, with one foot, kicked off the lid that covered the dugout. He reached in, grabbed the little boy by the arm and hauled him out. He started to carry him to the table near the stove but the boy was not cooperative. The boy cried and sobbed and wriggled and with the additional weight of the frying pan, he began to feel unsteady again.

He grabbed the boy by the seat of his pants, raised the frying pan and batted him across the room with it. He laughed as the boy landed on the table, shattering the tea cup and saucer. He picked him up from the table and batted the boy with the pan again. This time, the boy hit the wood stove and fell to the ground where he lay still.

In the fields Marvellous looked up and back at the barn. "Wait here," she told Jelly, Forest, Narrow and Santa. She could see Bull and Jones moving quickly through the bush towards them in the distance. "Make sure they wait here, too," she said, nodding towards the boys. The others looked towards their brothers and when they looked back, Marvellous was gone.

___

Mixer walked over to the stove and was about to pick the boy up again when he heard the barn door open and shut. He spun around and saw Marvellous standing in front of him.

"Leave him alone," she commanded.

She slowly made her way over to the stove. He retreated a few steps into the corner behind it. She could feel his malevolent eyes on her. She stopped and glanced at Mixer's body; it lay still in a pool of blood.

He was seething. He had been wrong about the Landlord and now he realized he'd been wrong about this woman. She wasn't harmless; as he watched her he wasn't sure whether the Landlord's physical strength would be enough. He got angrier.

She bent over the body and felt for a pulse; there was one but it was weak.

"I wanted you dead but not this way," she whispered.

"What's that?"

She looked up slowly, knowing what she'd see. A spoiled little boy, disguised as her father, playing around with power; power that he didn't know how to use or control.

"If you go back I can help you," she said to him.

Before she was able to block him she felt him scan her thoughts. "We are brother and sister," he said with surprise.

"Different sides of the same coin," said Marvellous.

His eyes narrowed. He didn't think; he flew at her with the frying pan raised. She sidestepped him neatly and he bounced off the wall and back towards her. She stepped away again and he crashed into the table. He lay atop it for a moment catching his breath. This body wasn't as agile as he'd first thought.

Desperately he threw his mind at her. Marvellous wasn't expecting it and the force sent her crashing into the stove. It was enough. He swung the frying pan once and she collapsed to the floor beside Mixer's body.

He picked her up and slung her across his broad shoulder, leaving one hand free to carry the frying pan and the other to climb up the ladder to the loft. His headache was gone and he felt new strength, as though he was carrying no weight at all.

He had wanted so badly to do this to someone for such a long time but he'd never been strong enough. He thought of all the times his plans had been thwarted; all the times his schedule was not his own; all the times he'd wanted to physically lash out and hurt and hurt and hurt. He smiled and laughed as he tied Marvellous' hands, blindfolded her and gagged and bound her mouth. He tied up her midsection in a blanket with rope then looped the end through the rails and loosely tied it off. Then he waited.

___

Jelly pulled a small head of garlic from a row, broke it open and peeled a clove. She told Bull to chew it slowly before swallowing. The massive odour cut through the fog in his head and he could now smell the Landlord even more strongly than when he'd first caught whiff of him while and Jones were in the woods. It was overpowering.

"That's it," said Bull to the others and started for the barn. "Stay here."

He ran to the back doors, his shoulders down, and rammed his way through. The weathered wood splintered under his weight and Bull stumbled inside, quickly regained his balance and headed straight for the loft. He could smell him. He was up there.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," he heard a voice call from above. Bull stopped in the middle of the barn and looked up; at the railing stood the Landlord.

Bull's eyes were drawn to the floor; he saw his brother lying in a darkened pool. He took another step forward.

"Have it your way Bull."

Bull saw the Landlord toss Marvellous' strung up body over the railing and ran to catch her but caught only air instead. The railing creaked loudly but held. His aunt dangled from a rope above his head. She moaned.

"Don't touch her or I let go of this rope. Get away from her. You too, Jones."

Bull looked to his left and found his younger brother beside him, his knife drawn.

"You may be fast but you won't be fast enough." He nodded his head towards the back of the barn. "None of you can stop me."

The boys looked and saw their sisters and brothers crowded around the back of the barn doors.

"Bull, is Mixer there?" Santa called.

Bull shook his head at her. She took a few steps closer and stopped. She could see something by the stove; she looked again at her brother. He shook his head again. Tears came into her eyes.

"All of you get over there. The others should be here anytime now."

The Landlord gestured for Bull to take the others to the table. Forest and Narrow each took one of Santa's arms and helped her across the floor. Forest wrapped his other arm around Jelly. Bull shepherded all of them to the far side of the table then took a seat by himself on the side closest to the railing. Thunder rolled overhead.

___

Titania woke up feeling something she hadn't felt in a long time. Peace. Unbidden, her arm raised itself so that her hand was before her eyes. It was her hand. The scars had disappeared; they weren't merely hiding below the surface of that other person's arm, that person who took her over from time to time. Slowly she raised the hand to her face and gently placed her fingertips on her left cheek bone. The boiling water had dug a channel through the skin and the scar was deep and long. All she felt was smoothness. With both hands she explored her face; her eyebrows which, before the accident, had been long and thick were back and the pock marks at her hairline were gone. She brought a handful of her hair in front of her eyes and found it fox red.

A flash of sheet lightning lit up the sky outside her window; moments later a roll of thunder passed close overhead. She got up from the bed, went into the main room and put on the beaver skin coat. Santa had taken some of it to make Mixer's coat and it was shorter than before, but, Titania realized now, easier to move in. She felt the luxurious fur. It was beautiful.

She turned and faced the mirror. It took her a moment to recognize herself. She lifted the mirror from its hook and gazed into it, amazed. Her red hair was tousled and dirty; thick and oily like the coat. All of her old scars were gone. She took a deep breath, lifting her whole body up straight and looked directly into her own green eyes. Yes, she said to herself.

She suddenly realized how hot it was. She took off the coat.

I won't need this, she thought. She gently laid the coat on the table and left the house. She walked gracefully to the back of the barn and up the ladder to the loft.

___

Porkchop and PC Pierre arrived at the front door of the barn. Porkchop saw everything in a glance. Mixer lay on the floor; her other brothers and sisters huddled at the table. She saw Marvellous dangling from the railing and behind the railing the Landlord. He waved the frying pan at them. He was sweating; dirt smears lined his face. His eyes rolled in his head.

PC Pierre took control of the situation.

"Sir? Are you feeling all right?" he said. He took a step toward the railing.

"Oh shut up Constable. Looks like you won't be getting this farm after all. Too bad none of you are getting it either." He laughed. "Just need one more person to make this party complete. Well, maybe two if your father shows up. If he doesn't," the Landlord shrugged, "I'll deal with him later."

Porkchop looked up through her hair and into the man's eyes. "May I check on our brother?" She looked over her shoulder at Mixer on the floor.

"If you'd like, but I don't see why you'd bother. He won't be a nuisance to you anymore."

Porkchop walked to the table.

"Jelly, come help me." Jelly obeyed her sister. "Where's Titania?" Porkchop whispered when Jelly knelt down beside her.

"I don't know."

PC Pierre regarded the Landlord warily. He'd seen the man drunk but even at his worst he was always in control, even jovial. The man's eyes seemed to wander independently of one another and he paced back and forth by the railing like an animal trapped in a too-small cage, the rope tight in his fist. He'd never seen the Landlord behave this way.

The children gathered around Porkchop, Jelly and Mixer. Santa wiped her face of tears.

"Check that his neck isn't broken then we'll roll him over," Porkchop told her sister. Jelly probed along Mixer's neck and spine and down his legs and, when she was satisfied that nothing was broken, rolled Mixer into Porkchop's hands. A gash in the side of his head that had started to clot became a bright red spot again as she laid him down on his back. His eyes were open.

Porkchop saw. Santa gasped and immediately covered her mouth. Mixer's had been the only blue eyes in the family. He was barely alive and his eyes were unseeing but they were now unmistakeably brown. Porkchop nodded to herself and stood up.

She joined the Constable and called up to the loft.

"Mixer!"

The man stared down at her.

"Mixer! Come down right now!" Porkchop sounded like Ma.

"Mixer?" the Constable said.

"That's not the Landlord," she told him. She took another step towards the railing; Pierre stepped with her.

"No!" he yelled back, his grip on the rope almost slipping. Marvellous' body jerked down a foot or so then swayed back and forth. He regained his hold on the rope.

"One more step and I let go. Just be patient. Isn't that what you're good at Porkchop? Waiting around?"

"What do you mean he's not the Landlord?"

"I don't have time to explain," she said.

Santa began to hum quietly. It was the tune she always sang to Mixer when he wouldn't go to sleep.

"Shut up Santa!"

Mixer drew on the strength of the Landlord's body and let the frying pan fly from his hands. He'd meant to hit Santa but it connected with the Constable's head instead. Pierre fell to the floor. Jelly screamed and Santa stopped singing.

"Shut up! Shut up!"

He tied Marvellous off to the railing to free his hands then stood to face them, a pruning knife in his hand. Jones recognized it as the one his aunt carried.

"Open your mouth one more time Santa and I'll cut this rope."

The jolt had roused Marvellous; she couldn't see through the blindfold but could sense the air below her. With effort she thrust aside her pain and concentrated.

Porkchop could see that Pierre was breathing and there wasn't any blood. She walked over to the table and stood in front of Bull.

"Where's Pater?" she called up to the loft.

"Who do you think we're waiting for?" He paused then and cocked his head at her. "Oh, I see," he said, getting a glimpse in his head from Santa. "Very clever, getting him out of the way. All right, I'll deal with him later."

Forest saw him waggle his fingers, felt the shock wave through his mind and put up a hand to shield his eyes from the lightning strike. He collapsed to his knees. The bolt exploded at the back of the barn splintering Narrow's water crates to bits.

In the flash, Porkchop saw movement at the back of the loft.

"Did you like that Forest?" Forest looked up with pain in his eyes. "Aw. What are you going to do about it? Predict the weather at me?" Another bolt took out the splintered back doors and half of the shelving units. Plants and earth exploded.

"Mixer!" yelled Porkchop over the thunder that followed. Surreptitiously, she took the knife from her pocket.

"Who's Mixer?" he roared.

He sent the knife flying from her hand. It twanged as it came to rest, embedded in the wall behind the stove. Narrow felt the breeze and looked down to see a lock of his hair, cut and resting on his shoulder.

"Knives won't stop me. Nothing will stop me now."

Jelly knelt beside Forest.

"Looking for some cure-all Jelly? Oh yes, I know about that." He waggled his fingers and they heard another explosion from the front yard. "Oops. There goes the last of it."

Bull sniffed the air. "Burnt cure-all," Jelly whispered.

Marvellous gently touched the Landlord's mind; it was fuzzy but it was unmistakably his. She held on to it, checked her own defences then reached for Mixer. When she was in she pulled with all her might.

On the floor, Mixer's body jerked upwards just as the Landlord's body stumbled forward into the railing. Titania lifted the shard up in one swift underhand motion. He teetered in place for a moment then fell forward, pitching over the railing, past Marvellous, and landed face first on the floor, the glass shard embedded several inches deep between his shoulder blades.

Porkchop looked up and saw Titania — the real Titania — standing in his place. She smiled at her. Titania climbed down the ladder and gracefully stepped over the dead body. Porkchop met her at the base and hugged her.

"I'm back," Titania whispered.

"Welcome home," Porkchop whispered back.

___

Hap pushed the bicycle up the long steep path to the farm. When he got to the top he got back on and rode the bike alongside the fields, marvelling at the ripening fruits and vegetables. His children had done this and his chest swelled tight with pride. He pedalled harder.

Inside the outhouse, Pater snapped awake at the sound of a loud noise. He continued to sit for some time before he eventually stood up, swayed and fell down again. He tried again, holding onto the privy walls for support. He hitched his pants up and pushed the door open just as Hap cycled into it.

___

As the Landlord's body lay on the floor in a slowly congealing pool of blood, Jones raced up the ladder to begin freeing Marvellous. Bull climbed up after him. They gently lowered her to the floor where Jelly and Narrow untied her. Forest still knelt on the floor, his head in his hands. Grunting with the effort, Porkchop rolled Pierre onto his back; he awoke briefly, looked into her eyes and smiled and passed out again. Santa crawled over to Mixer's side. His eyes were now closed. She couldn't feel his heartbeat when she took him into her arms and held him tight against her chest. She hummed softly to him.

They were interrupted by a voice at the door. Pater stood in the doorframe, one arm wrapped around his son's waist to prop him upright.

"Your father's here."

Beyond the door Porkchop saw the clouds begin to break up and a single ray of sunshine fall into the yard.

Autumn

When the trees lost their leaves and the last of the harvest had been brought in, Porkchop turned twenty. She and Pierre went to New Key and were married. Pierre kept his post as Constable but successfully petitioned the County to hire a second officer and break up the territory. He still climbed the lookout post ladder most days and patrolled the areas around the farm and up to the outskirts of New Key but now he was free to help his new wife and family and he set to work.

One of the first things he did was rebuild the stone well. The lightning bolt that had shattered it and cooked the cure-all that Mixer had dumped in there smoked for hours and perfumed the air with its strange scent.

Pater continued to live in the house and take his share of the rent. In deference to her grandfather's age, Porkchop arranged for her new husband to move his still from Honey Hill to a newly built shed in one corner of the yard so that he no longer had a reason to disappear for days at a time. Titania also stayed on in the house with him. Now, when did go missing, she almost always found him asleep in the shed, with his still. She liked listening to Pater's stories and his lies, like when he would rant and rave about how weak his son was. He didn't have to see his son much as he had returned to work the orchard for Mrs. Baker.

Mrs. Baker had indeed known about her nephew's shady business dealings and his occasional womanizing, but was shocked to learn all that he had done. She knew the Constable well enough to know he wouldn't bring charges against her nephew's estate, although he had the legal right to do so. But she was also shrewd enough to know that appeasing his sense of fair play would be best for everyone, herself included. She raised Hap's and Marvellous' wages, and paid bonuses and wages for the children's labour. At first she considered deeding the land immediately to Marvellous, but in the end she changed her own will to give it to her when she died. Having a tenant gave her a reason to keep in touch with her now only living relative. She took over the operation of the Piggy Gristle, quickly making it into a more respectable tavern, and buried her nephew in the town's cemetery.

The children returned to the orchard to live with their father and aunt but came back to the farm several times a year. At planting and harvest times they would move back into the barn for weeks at a time. Narrow devised a rope and pulley system from the base of Spoon Valley to the edge of the farm so that Jelly could easily transport plants or tools up or down.

As Titania had plunged the glass into the Landlord Mixer had felt himself being pulled back into his own body. He eventually awoke and turned his blue eyes to his sister. In time, Mixer became as loving a little boy as Santa always knew he could be. He started walking on his own and lost much of the baby fat he'd had. His rear end was still large but it no longer threatened to topple him over. He spoke, the halting, hopeful speech of any other three-year-old. The rest of his family came to love him. Santa sang to him each night at bedtime.

"Night, night Mixer," she said at the end of the song. She tucked him in.

"Night, night Santa." Mixer yawned and was soon asleep. He dreamed that he was hungry.

###
About the Author

Sharon Boddy lives in Ottawa, Canada where she makes a living as a professional writer and editor, specializing in environmental issues. When she isn't doing that, she can often be seen cackling over vats of soup or enticing things to grow from crummy soil.

Connect with her at http://sharonboddy.wordpress.com or read more of her fiction at Oddz 'N Sodz (<http://oddznsodz.blogspot.ca/).>

Acknowledgements

Thanks to all the folks who read a draft or drafts of this novella. Acronyms and nicknames have been used to protect the innocent: MEOW, the FC, my seesters, a few others who are quite shy and would prefer to go nameless, and of course the hubster, the only one to have read an early fifty-page draft that had a host of other characters and a whole other plot line. A special shout out to Lizard who was often forced to listen to me kvetch and gnash my teeth whenever I got stuck. Lastly, thank you to whoever dropped or lost his belt on Cavan Street. This story wouldn't exist if hadn't been for that bit of leather on the road.

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