Vol.5, Ch.5, P.15
One ev’ning, me dad calls me to his desk. Maybe it’s summat ’bout stepping up me studies, I’m thinking Or worse: maybe me an’ Timo’ve been found out finally. But as I come into the room, I spots a cheery smile on his face. An’ after a while, I figures out why:
I’m to be adopted out soon.
Some great, big noble’s been yearning for an heir o’ a bairn, me dad says, like it’s s’posed to be the grandest honour ever or summat. But for me, the news hits hard. I don’t know what to say. Me an’ me dad, we don’t get on all too warmly, true ’nough. But we’re still fam’ly, I’d like to think. I don’t want to just up an’ leave ’im like this. An’ ’specially not Timo. He’s me dear ol’ chum, me first an’ only friend. I’d rather swallow pins an’ needles than say goodbye to ’im.
An’ what’s more, I can well-guess what that noble’s up to. It’s not adoption, really, but rather “recruiting the cream o’ the crop”, as some o’ me tutours’ve tattled ’bout. The noble, he means to round up a bunch o’ bairnses like me, put ’em through the Roun rites, an’ then groom up only the single best o’ the lot. An’ then, well… who knows what’s to happen to the rest.
That noble can’t very well go sniffing ’bout other noble houses for this sort o’ scheme, me tutours’ve also said. An’ neither can he bet on some bairnses with “muddy pedigree”, as they’ve put it. That’s why he comes after fam’lies like ours: commonfolk with at least some dealings, some connections with the bigwigs in Redelberne.
Me dad, he’ll do some adopting o’ his own, I wager. After all, he’ll soon be needing an heir, too, after he’s got rid o’ me. An’ then this fam’ly’ll be better off than ever, what with now being warm with a mighty noble house an’ all.
“From peddler to prince; no complaint there, eh?” me dad says lastly. “Boy—b’come a bigger man than me. Bigger an’ better. I’m counting on you.”
An’ by the way he puts it, I can tell: me dad’s not in the least sad ’bout sending ’way his one son, his one fam’ly. No… I’d say he’s all too chuffed at the idea.
♰
“Timo. What say we set out sooner today? ’Fore nightfall, even.”
“Eh?”
“The beaches—I’ve been fancying me a visit. What ’bout you? Have you ever been?”
“Never…”
“Well, come ’long, then, why not!”
That’s me an’ Timo chatting. Aye, chatting whilst the sun’s still bright. Me dad an’ all the important people in the house, they’re gone on bus’ness today. Won’t be back till the morrow. They’re to meet with that noble, I reckon, an’ speak on the matter o’ me adoption. That’s why I’ve thought to spend all the day outdoors with Timo. Go on a proper adventure an’ what not. To the sea, even, whilst we’re at it. We are rather near to it, where we live, an’ I’ve long wanted to go see it with me own eyes, if even just for once.
It’s two hours afoot from here to there, I’ve heard. Well, for grown-up feet, leastways. It’ll be three for ours, probably. Anyroad, we ought be back ’fore supper if we take to the road now.
“But…”
Timo’s not much brave ’bout it, methinks. It is rather daring, I s’pose. But I can’t bloody help meself. I’m really, really pining to go. I want to see the ocean with Timo, smell it with ’im. Have ourselves a grand, blue mem’ry, to mark our good friendship an’ all.
Then, I see Timo giving me a look all thoughtful-like. Maybe me mind were writ clear on me face, ’cos then he smiles an’ says:
“…Oh, all right, then. To the beaches.”
♰
A few hours on. Me an’ Timo—we’re standing ’fore the great, big sea.
“…”
“…”
I’ve got no words for it. Neither does Timo, methinks. It’s blue. All blue. Sea an’ sky, far as the eye can see. The salty smell I’ve read ’bout; the feel o’ the sand so soft ’tween the toes; the sigh o’ the lapping waves. This is it, I thinks to meself; the sort o’ world that’s always waited for me outside the house.
Soon, we sit ourselves on the dune to rest our weary feet, an’ then just stare out to the ocean. On an’ on, for who knows how long, never saying a single thing. It must’ve been for some hours; the sun an’ sky are turning gold now. That’s when I remembered the one other reason I’ve brought Timo out here today.
“…Timo. There’s summat I’ve got to tell you straight.”
“Hm? What is it?”
“I’m to be sent off soon. Sent to ’nother fam’ly.”
“…”
Timo looks down. He hasn’t got much to say on it. But from there on, I put it all plain to ’im, bit by bit. ’Bout the adoption. ’Bout how it sours me spirits. ’Bout how the day o’ departure’s nearing really close.
I’ve turned ten an’ three this year, an’ ’ready have I got to start thinkin’ ’bout me future. Timo, he’s turned ten an’ three, too. But unlike me, there’s li’l in the way o’ a future for ’im to think ’bout. It’s going to be work, as always. Back-breaking work. All day. Ev’ryday. For ever an’ on.
I’ve wanted a way to get ’im out. For the longest time: some bright idea to break him free. But me bean, it’s not nearly bright ’nough to figure it out. Nothing, nothing at all ever comes to mind. An’ that always gets me down. ’Specially now. Timo, though, he looks at me an’ says peaceably:
“No helping it, I imagine.”
Aye. Too true. There really is no helping it. Me dad, he’s only too keen to take up the offer. An’ even if he weren’t… well, he’d scarce be in a spot to refuse, anyroad. That’s just the way the world wheels, as they says.
“But that’s not such a bad deal, wouldn’t you say? Or? I mean, it’s not everyday you’re made a noble. Look on the bright side: you can quit the old house for good now.”
Timo. Always a sensible one. A great deal more than me, leastways, even though we’re the exact same age. That’s expectable, I should guess; he’s lived a hard life. A really hard life. Not at all like mine. So then, I says to him:
“A-aye. An’ so, that’s got me wondering. I’ll b’come a noble, sure. But I’ll b’come a big one. A grand one. An’ then, an’ then—I’ll come for you, Timo! An’ bring you over to my house!”
I know. A silly, cock-an’-bull idea, that. But I’m at me wit’s end. Timo, though, he just smiles an’ thanks me like always, an’ then says that he looks forward to seeing what sorts o’ spiders’ll be haunting me attic.
♰
We stay on the beach for a while longer. Just sat there, basking in the wind an’ the sea, letting our teeth sink in proper, as they says. Not much time’s left. Best enjoy it whilst we can. An’ after that, we just pick up an’ head for home. It’s the same route, taking the same three hours, an’ so by the time we’re back at the gates, the sun’s ’ready long gone b’neath the hills.
“…Hh!?”
But then, I gasp. This isn’t ’nything I were expecting. ’Cos after slinking past the gates, we hear a great deal o’ talking yonder. An’ sure ’nough, we find folk gathered ‘fore the mansion. A great, big gathering o’ folk, all tattling an’ yelling ’bout just one thing: the missing li’l master.
One o’ the servants, he spots me from afar, an’ points at me an’ cries me name over an’ over. An’ soon ’nough, me dad comes pelting an’ shouting.
“There you are! Where in heavens’ve you gone off to!?”
“I uh, er…”
“Hmm!? Wait, why—you! What’s the meaning o’ this, eh!? Eh!?”
There. It’s happened. Me dad, he’s noticed Timo standing there at me side. His face turns all red like a boiled beet, an’ then his voice comes out like thunder.
“Stole me son ’way, is it!? To ransom ’im!? You filthy li’l devil, you!!”
This is terrible. I can’t believe it. I’m numb all over, feeling like this isn’t real. But I’ve got to move. I’ve got to explain ev’rything, else Timo’s done for. But ’fore I could say ’nother word, someone comes up from b’hind me dad: a tall an’ stately sort o’ man, wearing silks an’ trinkets an’ what not. He then says:
“I would hear the meaning of it myself—what is the matter here?”
“Ah!? M-milord! This, ehr…”
Me dad panicks. His rage’s snuffed all of a sudden. The man next to him: he’s a noble, I don’t doubt. The exact one that’s been meaning to take me in. This whole muddle; I reckon it’s ’cos o’ some change in plans. Instead o’ being visited, he’s come to visit us himself—to take a good measure o’ me, most likely.
But now he’s found his soon-to-be son doing what else but being chums with a Nafíl. Not good. Not good at all. Me dad, I can’t well blame ’im for sweating buckets like he is now. But whilst me an’ him’re both flailing an’ fishing for some words to say, we all hear next summat no one there could’ve expected.
“Hmph! A scowl and a scare; that’s all it took to get him following like a chick!”
Those words. They were Timo’s. There he is, standing straight an’ bold—like a rogue, right out o’ one o’ the stories I’ve told to him once.
“Aye, for true,” Timo growls on. “Gets awful stuffy there in the old shack, you know. So I thought to have myself a little adventure—with the little master here along as a pet!”
“Y… yeeuuu!!”
Me dad, he blows his pate off, screaming an’ stamping his foot. The noble, too; he stands there staring daggers down at Timo. Ev’ryone else is all in an uproar; an entire crowd yelling, moaning. An’ me, I’m stunned out o’ me wits. But then, it hits me.
Timo. He’s pretending. All to take the blame for ’imself. All for me. All for me house—me fam’ly.
A Nafíl, dragging ’long an inn’cent bairn on some unsav’ry jaunt—that’s the story Timo’s trying to sell. ’Cos if the truth ever came to light, it’d displease the noble, to say the least. An’ then the adoption deal an’ ev’rything else ’long with it would die on the vine. But the real rub is, things can’t very well go back to how they were. The world’s not nice ’nough for that.
Likely me fam’ly would lose face an’ all the influence it’s long built up. An’ me, I’d be branded as some bairn sick in the mind. Aye… our future would be gone. All gone. Mine ’specially. A gentle heart for Nafílses never lives for very long. “A hunch overblown, that,” some might say. But it hardly is. In this realm, with people like this, it hardly, hardly is.
And Timo—he’s realised it for himself, not least now at the worst o’ times.
“N-no, Timo! Don’t do th—”
“Quit yelping! I’ve had it with you!”
“Uwah…!?”
There—Timo’s yelled back at me an’ shoved me strong. I fall back an’ land on me bum. An’ next thing I know, me dad’s shrieking at the top o’ his lungs—
“T…! T-take this thing ’way! At once! At once!!”
—an’ all the servants start pouncing on Timo. He puts up no fight. Doesn’t even say ’nother word. An’ in a moment, I’m watching him being seized an’ dragged ’way.
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