The Jade Boy (3 page)

The dark boy didn’t hesitate. Jem realised that the two children and the monkey were ravenous. He looked at the table and felt a pang of fear when he saw how many pies were now missing. There was no doubt who Pig Face and Wormald would blame… They would take it in turns to beat him later.

Suddenly Cleo leapt from Ann’s lap and scampered to the end of the table. Her small body went rigid as she stared at the door, then she raced back to Tolly’s feet and started to chatter furiously. He scooped her from the floor.

“Ann, someone is coming, we must be ready,” he said anxiously.

The girl wiped crumbs from her skirts and stood up. She turned to Jem and took his hand again.

She held her head to one side, frowned and then smiled broadly. “You don’t like the steward here, W– Wormy? Is that his name?”

Jem nodded. “Er yes, sort of, but how…?”

Ann grinned mischievously. “Never mind how for the moment, let’s just say that Mr Wormy is about to develop a rather embarrassing condition. I’m so glad we’ve found you, Jem. And I’m sorry too – there’s much more to say, but we have no time left. We need your help – and I think you’re going to need ours.”

Ann took a step back, raised her arms and began to spin slowly on the spot.

“Wait!” called Jem, but it was already too late.

Little flickers of blue light began to spark from the tips of her fingers and the air around her started to shimmer. Jem heard her voice as if from somewhere far away.

“You are right to fear Cazalon. He is a monster…”

The girl’s last words were little more than a whisper as she spun faster and faster. There was a blinding flash and she disappeared.

Tolly bent down to retrieve a small glittering beetle from the flagstones. Carefully he lifted it up to his turban and Jem watched, fascinated, as he nestled it into the folds of material. It was now a jewelled clasp again.

The door to the kitchen swung open and Wormald appeared. He paused and sniffed the air suspiciously before stalking over to the boys. When he saw Cleo, his nose wrinkled in distaste.

“You, monkey boy. Your master is calling for you and that noxious, repulsive beast. Out. Now!”

Tolly straightened his coat, drew himself up to his full height, lifted Cleo to his shoulder and began to saunter confidently across the kitchen.

“A moment!” Wormald’s voice crackled with spite. “Do I see crumbs on the floor? How many pies have you stolen, boy – you and that ungodly creature on your back?”

Tolly stopped and looked questioningly at Jem.

Wormald’s bony hand slipped under his black frock coat to his belt, where he kept a small thin whip clipped next to an ornate silver ring that contained keys to every room in the house.

The ring of keys jangled as the steward slowly produced the whip and walked towards the table.
The man was fizzing with dangerous excitement. Jem’s stomach knotted. How many pies had Ann, Tolly and Cleo eaten? Six, maybe seven?

He shifted position in front of the table so that he masked the gaps in the gleaming rows and began to speak.

“Er… Mr Wormald, sir, the duke ordered me to feed the count’s servant. He specifically said that I was to—”

Wormald’s eyes narrowed. “And fed your own greedy guts in the process I’ll be bound. If I don’t see sixty pies on that table you’ll go without food for a fortnight… after I’ve beaten you
and
these repellent creatures. Stand aside!”

Little flecks of spittle spattered into the air as the steward screeched his order.

Jem took a sidestep and turned to look at the table, dreading the worst.

Rows and rows of golden venison pies glowed with warmth on the long wooden trestle top. Not a single gap could be seen, not a single pie was missing. Wormald made a hasty count.

“Sixty!” he almost spat the word. “It seems I caught you in good time.”

At that moment, Cleo made a noise that sounded
very much like a chuckle. She rocked on Tolly’s shoulder and snickered loudly. Tolly tried to muffle her, but she leapt down to the table where she bared first her teeth at the steward and then her bottom.

Jem gulped. From long experience he knew this wouldn’t turn out well.

Wormald’s jagged face set into a mask of controlled fury. He brandished the whip like a kitchen knife as he advanced slowly and softly along the table towards the chattering creature. Tolly stepped forward to gather her into his arms, but the monkey scampered to the far end of the table where she kept up her mocking, chirruping sounds, all the while keeping her bright black eyes locked on the approaching steward.

Tolly darted a stricken look at Jem.

“The little beast won’t think it so funny when I beat its brains out,” Wormald said in the soft, wheedling voice he usually reserved for his dealings with the duchess.

“Here, monkey,” he crooned as he got nearer and nearer. “Come here, you repulsive, misshapen abomination.”

When he was just a couple of feet away he jerked the whip into the air ready to lash out.

Jem couldn’t bear it.

“No!”

He sprang forward and knocked the whip from Wormald’s hand. It flipped up into the air and fell at Tolly’s feet. The dark boy kicked it away in disgust.

The steward spun round and glared – his grey hair crackled with static making it rise around his head like a grimy halo. From the deep pocket of his frock coat he now produced a short serrated cane that Jem recognised with a shudder.

Wormald took a step towards them and his eyes sparked with malice.

“Oh, you’ve done it now, my lad. I
was
going to be merciful and just use my whip. But now—”

His words were cut short by the most enormous farting noise that ripped through the kitchen with such force and energy that it actually produced a ringing echo from the copper pans ranged along the shelves.

The steward’s face turned sickly green and he bent double to clutch his stomach. Then, as yet another colossal fart exploded from his breeches he started to scuttle urgently and inelegantly towards the kitchen door, all the while bending and pulling his frock coat around him as if to muffle the thunderous sounds.
As Wormald disappeared into the darkening afternoon, presumably making for the servants’ middens at the far end of kitchen yard, they heard his choked voice fading across the cobbles.

“Don’t think that I’ll forget this! That smug grin will be wiped off your face, kitchen brat, when I’ve finished with you. When the king arrives tonight you shall not be permitted to watch from the gallery with the rest of the servants. And… and that’s just the beginning.”

Stunned for a moment, the boys stared at the swinging yard door, then they began to laugh so hard that they couldn’t speak. Cleo chattered and jumped onto Tolly’s rocking shoulder, where she batted at the red feather of his turban with an air of nonchalant victory. Jem sank to his knees and slapped the stone floor.

Finally Tolly wiped a tear from his cheek and spoke aloud.

“So that’s what she meant by embarrassing condition. Brilliant, wasn’t it?”

Jem grinned and nodded. “I’ll pay later, but it will be worth it. Did Ann really give Wormald the gripes?”

Tolly nodded and laughed again. “She did it for you.”

The sound of clattering hooves leaving the stable yard warned the boys that Cazalon’s carriage was being brought round.

“We have to go now,” said Tolly, offering Jem his hand.

It was as if something in the dark boy’s broad handsome face suddenly closed as he added, “Your steward is not the only cruel master.”

With that he adjusted Cleo’s position on his shoulder and strode towards the door.

Just as Tolly and Cleo disappeared into the winding staircase leading up to the house, Jem caught the faintest whiff of violets and a girl’s voice whispered in his ear.

“
Your father is alive, Jem
.”

Jem was surrounded by a ring of ice-blue flames that burned his skin like the east wind in January. Tongues of frosty fire licked hungrily at his boots as the dancing circle grew smaller and smaller. Somewhere far away, a woman called his name. His feet felt like blocks of ice as a deadly numbness began to creep up his legs.

“Jem! Wake up!”

His eyes snapped open. Sarah stood at the end of the bed. She had tugged the thin blanket off his body and now his exposed feet were frozen. A single candle in her hand threw flickering shadows into the corners and crevices of the beamed attic.

“Pull on your coat, too, Jem,” she said, bending to retrieve a woollen sock from the floor.

He was supposed to be sorting rags for use in the privies – a punishment set by Wormald. There was a great pile of them on the floor and on the bed, but the task was so dull Jem had become drowsy. He had kicked off his boots, crawled under the patched sheets and fallen asleep.

Now he was aware of a distant humming, as if the house, usually so silent in the hours of darkness, had somehow come alive.

“Be quick about it,” his mother whispered, “we don’t want to miss him.”

“Miss who?” asked Jem sleepily.

“The king, of course. He is expected at any moment. I know that Wormald has forbidden you to watch with the rest of the servants, but I…”

Sarah stopped and busied herself with the heaps of privy rags.

Jem grinned. Despite her coolness towards him when they were in the company of others, he knew she loved him. There were still times, like now, when she made sure that Wormald didn’t get his own way.

Jem struggled into his tight jerkin and Sarah drew a sharp breath, “You’re growing so fast. You’ll soon be as tall as your—”

She paused and started to straighten the bed, tutting when she found a book smuggled from the duke’s library buried in the knot of sheets. When Jem was small, Sarah had spent many hours teaching him to read. Now he escaped from the drudgery of the kitchen whenever he could by losing himself in books Sarah borrowed for him from the duke’s
magnificent library. Tales of ancient heroes, travellers and far-off lands were his favourites.

“You’ve had this for at least a month now, Jem. I’ll have to take it back.”

She tucked the book under her arm and continued to straighten the bedding. As she bobbed and bustled, little wisps of pale gold hair escaped in spring-like tendrils from under her lace cap.

Jem frowned. He felt sure she had been about to mention his father, but had stopped herself – as usual.

“
Your father is alive
.”

Those four whispered words had echoed in his mind for hours until he almost felt he was going mad. Had he imagined it? Was it true… was it even possible?

The most he knew was his father’s surname – Green – and the fact that he had been a soldier. Sarah had said he had died before Jem was born. Anything else on the subject was firmly locked away in his mother’s heart – and Jem knew better than to ask.

He thought back on the events of the afternoon – had that really happened or had it been part of a dream too?

“Come on dormouse. It’s almost time.” Sarah
thrust a pair of woollen socks into his hand. “You’ll need these, it’s a cold night.”

Jem pulled a face, but then he smiled. Sarah hadn’t called him dormouse for years. Not since the days when he had shared her room and huddled in her bed. That was a long time ago now.

He shivered and pulled on the socks as Sarah opened the door cautiously and checked the corridor. No other servants were about – they were all in position, awaiting the arrival of the king. Mother and son hurried down the narrow stairs from the attic rooms and made their way through a series of dark passages before entering a long gallery that hung like a balcony four floors above the great hall. The distant humming suddenly became a cacophony of voices and laughter. Somewhere, musical instruments were being played.

Two levels below, Jem could see the rest of the under-servants crowded together on a lower gallery, all craning for a better view. Little Simeon looked up for a second, and, catching sight of Jem, waved. Jem shook his head and put his finger to his lips, motioning to Pig Face and Old Susan, who were standing just a few paces away from the boy. Everyone knew he had been banned from watching the spectacle.

Jem held tight to the rail and looked down. He didn’t much like heights. Even though he knew he was perfectly safe up on the balcony, he still gripped hard and concentrated on the solid boards beneath his feet.

The hall below was glittering with light and colour. He had never seen so many finely dressed people. Even from this distance, he could smell the burning beeswax candles mingling with the scents of the expensive perfumes and oils worn by the nobility. He could smell sweat, too, as the overdressed and overheated bodies below pushed and jostled for position.

“Look, there’s the duchess,” said his mother, pointing.

The delicate duchess was wearing sapphire blue silk with a coil of heavy pearls at her neck.

“The dress looks well on her,” Sarah added, proud of her needlework.

Jem nodded uncertainly. He knew his mother and the duchess were unusually close. When he was small, the childless duchess had almost been like a second mother to him, but recently something in her had changed. Sometimes it was as if she could hardly bear to look at him. He wondered if he was a painful reminder of the children she had never had.
Her moods had become unpredictable and often she was sharp and irritated. As Jem looked down he realised that the woman he had once thought so beautiful now looked disappointed and bitter. She also looked angry – and Jem could see why.

In the centre of the room, the duke was holding the hand of a pretty woman. He was evidently being very amusing because every now and then she laughed, throwing back her head so that her glossy black ringlets bounced and caught the candlelight.

Suddenly a call went up.

“The king!”

Three loud raps sounded and the huge doors to Ludlow House were swung back.

Jem’s grip tightened as he leaned further over the balcony. Everyone in the room was suddenly silent as the royal party entered. Like a flock of tropical birds the court women came first, with their
jewel-coloured
silks and fluttering fans. They were followed by a swagger of capes and ruffles as the king’s male friends and companions made their entry.

Finally the king himself arrived. Charles II was taller than anyone else in the room. He was a handsome man with bright, merry eyes and a rather prominent nose.

Charles strode across the hall and slapped the duke on the back.

“So this fine lady will be my dancing partner tonight? What a generous gesture, George!”

The king beamed at the preening beauty standing at Bellingdon’s side. His voice was deep and low, but every word carried to the upper balcony.

Jem glanced over at his mother. She too was straining to get a better view and he noticed with surprise that she was clinging to the rail so tightly that her knuckles showed white through the skin. For a fleeting moment he wondered if she was uncomfortable with heights too, but his thoughts were interrupted by an elaborate trumpet fanfare.

He looked down again and watched as the king, Bellingdon and a small party of favoured courtiers moved off into the banquet chamber. The crowd of guests below immediately ebbed and swayed to follow them like the frothy wake of a boat.

The duchess remained in the hall but Jem could see she was not alone. As a man in a dark cloak shot with iridescence like the wing case of an insect leaned in to whisper in her ear, she bowed her head and laughed coquettishly behind her fan. The man was wearing such an extravagant wig that
it was impossible to see his face.

The duchess nodded and the man raised his head slowly and began to scan the upper balconies. He was obviously searching for someone.

Eventually he looked up to the level where Jem and Sarah stood.

The duchess’s companion was Count Cazalon.

The count’s black eyes locked on Jem’s and the man performed an elaborate bow, twirling his gloved hand in a theatrical display of politeness. Jem had the disturbing feeling that all along Cazalon had known he was there, watching.

Cazalon said something else to the duchess and she looked up too. Catching sight of Jem and Sarah, she nodded again enthusiastically, patting Cazalon’s arm with her fan before pointing it in Jem’s direction.

The man bowed deeply to her and then turned his attention back to Jem, staring intently at the boy, but looking amused.

Suddenly Jem felt dizzy. He lost his grip on the rail and slumped forward. He wanted to be sick and felt the cold prickle of sweat beading his forehead. The world began to spin and whirl around him and a series of peculiar images rushed through his mind – the sun raced across a blood-red sky, stars wheeled
around the heavens, the moon crashed into the sea, a great pointed building rose from nothing on a desert plain and a huge stone woman with the body of a lion turned slowly and terribly to stare at him with eyes that burned like coals.

Jem was distantly aware of a roaring sound in his head and the tiled floor below seemed to roll like waves on the ocean before it rose up to meet him.

As he fainted, he heard Ann’s words ringing in his mind.

“You are right to fear Cazalon. He is a monster.”