Deep Is the Fen, page 2
The bramble-frog of Morgendagh
He who rises with the stars.
We’ll chase away the spirits old
Let us cross your fine threshold.
The Order of Toadmen is supposed to be a secret gentlemen’s society, but it’s pretty hard to keep secrets in Candlecott. Maybe the other chapters are better at it, in bigger towns and cities. They meet once a week in the Frater House and eat biscuits and play backgammon, and then a few times a year they put on silly costumes and do rituals like this. But they don’t usually come here, because Da knows I don’t like it. He’s been a Toadman practically his whole life, and when I was younger I didn’t think much of it at all. I used to love the shiver of fear when the Toadmen would bang on our door on Whitsun Eve, back when Ma was still alive.
But since I learned to see mettle, it feels like maybe the Toadmen are something more than old men playing dress-ups. There’s something about those brownish mettle wisps that makes my stomach churn with unease.
Teddy elbows me aside, his cheeks as red as apples. His voice is extra loud, emboldened with wassail.
Begone, you toads, you slimy frogs
Back to your fens and to your bogs
Our house is warm and good and bright
It welcomes not beings of the night.
I frown at him. Since when did Teddy know Toad rhymes? Can’t he just tell them to bugger off?
The second robed figure steps forward, and I recognize it as the Ghost Toad, its mask blank white and featureless save for two black holes for eyes.
About one toad the bards do sing
So bold and brave they made him king
Let us in and tap the cask
It’s cold, and twice you’ve made us ask.
I move to close the door, but Teddy elbows his way in front of me.
Begone, O king of mucky courts!
Your breath does stink
Your face is warts.
The words come out of his mouth as smooth as butter. Like he’s been practicing. Then the monster—the King Toad—steps forward and speaks in a deep voice that is quiet but commanding.
We are the Toads of Deeping Fen.
And we will not ask you again.
The fiddle cuts off abruptly, leaving silence breached only by the sputtering of the torch. The air is suddenly heavy with the threat of the King Toad, the looming malice of it all.
Teddy looks over his shoulder at me. He’s beaming, delighted to have played his part in the ritual.
I scowl at him—he knows I don’t like the Toadmen. I’ve told him and Sol about how I think they do secret magic. Illegal magic. Dangerous magic.
I want to slam the door—whatever’s going on with Teddy, I don’t like it. I hesitate, glancing at the familiar stoop of Da’s shoulders, and in that moment Sol steps around me, opening the door wide to welcome them into his house like the traitor he is. I shoot him a murderous glare, and he shrugs.
“It would be rude not to,” he murmurs.
Sol has always been too polite for his own good.
The robed figures cross the threshold and the air in Sol’s cozy sitting room suddenly feels colder. But then the tension of the moment is broken, and the fiddle starts up again as the Toadmen reach up to remove their hoods and masks. I know them, of course. Harry-the-Bus and Creepy Glen are the two masked toads. There’s my lovely da, helping to extricate Gruffydd Thomas from the King Toad costume, laying the papier-mâché skull carefully against the doorframe, its beer-bottle eyes still glinting. And Huw Jones with his fiddle tucked under his chin.
“Sorry, love,” Da says under his breath as he comes in. “They insisted on coming here.”
His eyes flick to Teddy as he says this, and uneasiness throbs in my gut. I help Sol set out bottles of beer and thimblefuls of wassail, and a platter with speckle bread, stone cakes and gooseberry tarts.
Huw comes over to ask Sol a question about their set list for the fair tomorrow, and Creepy Glen and Gruffydd Thomas usher Teddy over to the window, where they bow their heads and speak in low voices. I desperately want to go over there and find out what they’re talking about.
But before I can move, Harry-the-Bus digs me in the ribs. “Heard you’ll be off to Staunton come September,” he says with a grin.
I feel Da’s eyes on me. “I’m not going,” I tell him.
“Sure you are,” Harry-the-Bus says. “A university scholarship like that—it’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”
I want to slap the bottle of beer out of his hand, but I manage a polite smile instead. “I’ve made up my mind.”
Sol catches my eye, and I scowl at him. We’ve had this conversation before. It feels like the only thing people want to talk about. Candlecott is my home, and I can’t leave Da all alone. If Ma were still alive, then maybe things would be different.
The Toadmen drink their beer and wassail and eat the speckle bread. Then they sing “Little Saucepan” for us before pulling their costumes back on and heading out the door.
“Ready for tomorrow night?” Gruffydd Thomas says to Teddy as he crosses the threshold.
Teddy glances guiltily at me, but nods.
Da tells me not to wait up. I watch them traipse up the street to harass the next poor unsuspecting household. Then I round on Teddy, and he shrinks away from me, holding up his hands in defense.
“What was all that about?” I demand.
“Just a bit of fun.”
I throw a leftover scallop at him, and he ducks too late. “It’s Whitsun!” he protests, wiping grease from his cheek. “The Toading is traditional.”
“It’s not our tradition,” I fume. “Our tradition is to stay home while everyone else goes to the pub and gets drunk. Our tradition is fish and chips and twlbwrdd. Just the three of us.”
“Well, things change.”
Teddy isn’t quite meeting my gaze.
“You’re not…joining, are you?” I ask.
“I’m thinking about it.”
The uneasy feeling in my gut explodes into anger. I turn to Sol. “Did you know about this?”
His eyes slide from mine, and he nods, abashed.
“I can’t believe you’ve been keeping secrets from me! Both of you!”
Sol’s cheeks go pink. “I said we should tell her,” he mutters to Teddy.
“And I said she’d react exactly like this!” Teddy pours himself another thimble of wassail, and I screw up my nose.
“You know how I feel about them. They do magic,” I say as a realization hits me. “That’s why you want to join, isn’t it? You think they can teach you more magic.”
“What if it is?”
“I’ve told you what I can see. The brown shadows on their mettle. I think their magic is cursed. It can’t be legal.”
Teddy snorts. “Since when did you care about legal?” he says. “What about when you stole Bill Gaffney’s prize pig and put it in the staff room at school?”
“That’s different. Bill Gaffney got his pig back. It was just for fun.”
“The Toads is just for fun too.”
But I know this isn’t true. I can see it in his eyes. There’s a lot more going on here.
“You think it’s going to be fun to wear those silly robes and dance around under every fish moon jingling bells and muttering rhymes? You think it’s fun to sit in that fusty damp hall with all those boring old men, eating stale shortbread and playing backgammon?”
“Make up your mind, Merry,” Teddy says. “Is it dangerous magic, or boring old men?”
“It can be both.”
“Your own da is a Toadman,” says Teddy. “Nearly all the men in Candlecott are.”
I can’t talk to Da about any of this. I’ve tried to explain to him the weird feeling I get about the Toads, but it’s hard to explain without telling him about those glimpses of strange mettle. And I promised Ma I wouldn’t tell him that the witch’s curse got me too.
“All Da’s friends are Toads,” I say hotly. “It’s the only social thing he does. But not you! You have us.”
I glance over at Sol to see if he’s willing to chip in, but he’s just watching us, his brow creased. He hates it when we fight.
“Not for long,” Teddy says quietly. “Sol’s going overseas and you’re off to the university. I’ll be left here all on my own. What else am I supposed to do?”
“I’m not going to Staunton, I told you.”
Teddy snorts. “Of course you’ll go. As if you’re going to let Caraway Boswell be the only one from Candlecott to take up that scholarship.”
He knows that any mention of Caraway Boswell will distract me, and he’s right. Horrid Caraway Boswell with his perfect hair and his equally perfect academic record. Caraway Boswell, who stole my dux glory. Caraway Boswell, the haughty, insufferable snob. And a Toadman to boot. I can see it in his mettle.
“Caraway Boswell,” I start, my voice dripping with disdain, “is not from Candlecott. He’s a boarder.”
“He’ll still be the only one going from our school if you don’t,” Teddy says.
I hate the thought of Caraway Boswell beating me. Being the only one to go to Staunton. But I just can’t leave Candlecott and Da…and Teddy.
“Don’t let this spoil our night, Merry,” Teddy pleads. “Or our summer.”
He slings an arm over my shoulder, and I duck and wriggle away.
“You stink of cloves,” I tell him.
“It’s the wassail.”
“I hate it.”
“You love it.”
“I hate you.”
“You love me.”
My cheeks grow hot. “Shut up.”
“You’re just cranky because Harry-the-Bus mentioned the U word.”
“And here you are mentioning it again!” I retort.
“You know what’s really great?” interrupts Sol desperately. “Ice cream. Ice cream solves everything.”
This kind of logic cannot be argued with, and we head into the kitchen to pile bowls high with creamy scoops of blueberry and honeycomb and pear, drowning them in caramel sauce and Sol’s aunt’s rhubarb syrup.
We end up playing Knave Noddy, and Sol wins every time. Teddy drinks more wassail and eventually falls asleep on the couch, his snores so loud they make the windows rattle.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask Sol, keeping my voice low. “The Toadmen?”
Sol shrugs. “It’s what he wants.”
I shake my head. “He doesn’t know what he wants.”
“That’s not fair, Merry,” Sol says. “Teddy is as grown as you are.”
But that’s why it hurts. Teddy knows exactly what he’s doing. He always does. Which means he knows this will hurt me and has decided to do it anyway.
“Teddy’s feeling like he’s going to get left behind,” Sol says, as calm and sensible as ever. “You and I are leaving.” He catches my warning look and corrects himself. “Possibly leaving. And…they came asking for him. Telling him how great his smithing skills are. You know how ambitious he is. They’ve promised him things. Opportunities. You’re not the only one who has dreams, you know.”
What kinds of opportunities could they offer him? What promises have they made? “I just wish he weren’t ambitious about magic.”
“Teddy is special.” I can see the fondness in Sol’s eyes as he says it. “It’s not often you get magic talent like that in a man. I think the Toadmen will be able to help him use it safely.”
Sol is always so kind and sensible, it’s impossible to argue with him. I nod, and he nudges me gently.
“Also,” he says, “he’s going to look great in those long flowing robes.”
I snicker at the thought of it. “And the little bonnet?” I say. “The one with the frill around the edge?”
“He’ll have to learn the Haycorn Dance,” Sol reminds me. “The one with the bells and the ribbons.”
Teddy lifts his head and looks blearily around. “Whadid I miss?”
Sol and I exchange a look and dissolve into giggles.
* * *
—
TEDDY WALKS ME HOME at around two in the morning. Sol invites me to stay the night, but Da will be out late doing Toad stuff, and I want to be there first thing in the morning to help him get ready for the poultry show. Sol parcels me up some leftover speckle bread for breakfast.
The night is crisp and clear, scented with woodsmoke and night-blooming phlox. Stars carpet the velvety darkness of the sky, and a fingernail of moon glows blue above us. I link my arm through Teddy’s, and we walk in amiable silence through the empty cobbled streets of Candlecott.
We pass the forge on the edge of the village green, and I feel Teddy’s chest swell slightly, and I know he’s thinking about his apprenticeship, and his dreams of becoming one of the great smiths of history. Tomorrow he will be demonstrating his skills before the whole town at the Whitsun fair, and I know he’s going to knock everyone’s socks off.
The sound of alcohol-soaked merriment drifts across the green from the Rose and Crown. I hope Ken Lanagan has plenty of his famed hangover dram available tomorrow at the fair. I’ve never had it, but I’ve heard it includes pickle juice, coltsfoot and a dash of laundry detergent.
Houses are replaced by fields and furrows, and I look up the hill to Candlecott School. I can see lights on in the dormitory, and my stomach twists as I imagine horrid Caraway Boswell there. Probably studying, even though school is over for the year. Why hasn’t he gone home to his mansion in the city, or sauntered off to spend the summer on a yacht somewhere?
I can only imagine how insufferable he’ll be at Staunton. The university is probably full of people like him. People from big cities and wealthy families who look down their noses at simple countryfolk like me. There’s a part of me that burns to go. To take up the scholarship and show them all how wrong they are. To be the best at everything. To prove that your family’s name or how many butlers you have is meaningless. But another part is afraid that I’d become one of them. That I’d return to Candlecott and people would treat me the way we treat people like Caraway.
We turn down the lane that leads to our little farm, and I see the porch light burning cheerfully to welcome me. Out of habit, I glance up to the window where I used to see Ma sitting, waiting for me to come home from Sol’s, and for Da to come home from the Frater House. Another Whitsun tradition.
But Ma isn’t there, of course.
The hens inside the chicken coop greet me in their creaky, sleepy way. Out of habit, I look threadwise to check for any fox mettle that might be lurking nearby. But all I see is chicken, and little gossamer-thin streaks from moths and other small night creatures. An owl passes overhead, swift and silent, its mettle streaming silver behind it like a shooting star.
We stop outside my front door, and Teddy gently turns me to face him.
“Don’t be mad,” he says. “About the Toadmen.”
I am mad, but I remember what Sol said and bite my tongue. “Just…promise me you’ll be careful,” I say. “And stay away from Creepy Glen. And don’t let it take up any of our time together.”
Teddy flashes me his dimples. “No fear,” he says. “Nothing is going to keep the three of us apart this summer.”
He gives me a hug, and I breathe him in, iron and woodsmoke. My heart beats a little faster.
“Good night,” I murmur, but I don’t turn to go inside.
“Merry.” He keeps his hand on my arm.
It’s going to happen. He’s going to kiss me again. I tilt my chin up to him, and he lays a finger on my cheek. The night around us seems to hold its breath, waiting.
“It’s Whitsuntide,” he says gently. “Your da’s out, so you’re first foot in the door.”
The perfect moment slides away, and I feel a sting of disappointment. “You know I’m not superstitious.”
Teddy frowns. “You want Jenny Greenteeth to snatch you in the night?”
I sigh and rummage in my pockets. “I’ve got a silver coin already. And the speckle bread from Sol.”
“Here.” Teddy passes me a blackened bit of charcoal.
“Where did that come from?”
“I always carry coal,” he says. “Nothing luckier for a blacksmith. You still need salt. And evergreen.”
I snap off a sprig of lavender from the bush that grows by the front door. “Surely that’s enough.”
Teddy shakes his head obstinately. “Salt is the most important one! Protection.”
I snort. “And what exactly do I need to be protected from in Candlecott?”
“You’re not going to stay in Candlecott forever.”
“Says who?” The thought of leaving here…I don’t know how Sol is doing it. How can he leave? Where else could possibly be as perfect?
My treacherous mind shows me an image of gray spires and oak-panelled lecture theaters, but I shake it away. “Brutus has a salt lick. In the barn.”
Teddy disappears and returns a moment later with a sliver of salt that he’s chipped off the large block. I slide it into my pocket with the lavender and the bit of charcoal.
“Enough?” I ask.
“A coin for wealth,” Teddy recites. “Bread for nourishment. Salt for protection. Coal for warmth. Evergreen for a long, healthy life. Ideally you’d have whiskey as well, for good cheer. I should have brought the wassail.” He hesitates, like he’s considering running back to get it.
“I get enough good cheer from your breath,” I tell him. “And anyway, I drank some of the wassail, so I’m still carrying it through the door.”
“I suppose so.”
I hesitate on the threshold for a moment longer. Just in case.
“Happy Whitsuntide, Merry,” Teddy says cheerfully over his shoulder as he turns and makes his way back down the garden path.
