Part 11 (1/2)
Petey howled.
”See the lovely stars, Petey?”
I saw them myself, red blobs splatting against my eyeb.a.l.l.s.
”She's kilt me!” screamed Petey.
Not just yet, Petey, but give me a minute: You'll wish you had been kilt.
Cras.h.!.+
”Dear, oh dear!” I said. ”A splat of brains just dribbled out your ear.”
I lifted his head for the third crash. ”Pity your mother didn't cook you longer.”
Blast! An arm scooped me round the middle, lifting me up. Lifting me off Petey.
Whoever it was would be sorry. When I rammed my elbow this time, it connected with muscle and bone, which is far more satisfactory than blubber. A person feels she's really doing something.
”Steady, miss.” It was Robert's voice. It was Robert's arm that had picked me up and was setting me down.
”I fetched him,” said Rose. ”I didn't prefer you to fight.”
”She were in a pother, Miss Rose were, an' so, miss, I taked the liberty.”
Now that's true poetic irony. I rush into battle to defend the fair name of Rose Larkin, and what does she do but fetch Robert to stop me.
”I don't match up today,” said Rose. ”I wish Robert could have seen how my ribbon matches my petticoat, but the witches took my ribbon.”
Robert blushed.
I turned away from the Brownie, but he followed along, his absurd knees clicking every which way. I mustn't talk to him again. If I kept on, it would be easy to slide back to my old ways, stepping into the world of the Old Ones, letting my powers run wild.
Ten paces away, a bubble of villagers surrounded Petey. ”Did I kill him?” I said.
”No, miss,” said Robert.
”Pity.”
”I knew Robert would stop the fight,” said Rose. She smiled at Robert, an actual smile. Her teeth were matching strings of pearls. ”I knew it.”
Had I ever seen Rose smile before, a real smile?
The villager-bubble burst, revealing Cecil and Eldric, drag-pulling Petey toward me.
”You're all over blood,” said Eldric.
”The boy shall have a proper beating,” said Cecil.
”But I beat him already,” I said, ”and don't tell me I didn't do it properly. I'm touchy about these things.”
Eldric looked me up and down with his lightning eyes. ”I'd never say you beat him improperly.”
”But the blood-” began Cecil.
Could Cecil never shut up?
”It's Petey's blood,” I said. ”I can tell by the stink.”
”I sent Robert a birthday card,” said Rose.
”That you did, miss, an' 'twere a pleasure to receive.”
”But the sheer cheek of this fellow fighting you!” said Cecil.
”It's the other way round,” I said. ”I fought him. He was rude to Rose.”
”Robert sent me a birthday card too,” said Rose, ”but he couldn't send one to Briony because she hasn't any birthday.”
”I don't care about who fought whom,” said Cecil.
”Your father would care,” I said. ”A judge would care who started it.”
Cecil's eyes scuttled about like pale beetles. To Petey, to me, and back to Petey. Eldric stood before Petey, speaking to him in a lovely plum-jammy sort of voice and tick-tocking his finger in front of Petey's eyes.
”d.a.m.n it all, Briony,” said Cecil very softly in my ear. ”This Eldric fellow is keeping you to himself.” But I imagined I knew what Cecil really cared about. He cared that it was Eldric, not he, who looked so easy and expert. That it was Eldric who looked our way and said perhaps Dr. Rannigan should see the boy.
”I thought we had an understanding,” said Cecil, still very soft.
We did?
”Cecil, would you please escort Petey to Dr. Rannigan?”
Cecil paused, but there was no way he could politely protest.
Poor Cecil. It's hard to be a devil of a fellow in these modern times. No stagecoaches to hold up. No princesses to rescue. Just Petey Todd to escort, while the easy, expert fellow walks the pretty girl home.
But perhaps the pretty girl should go straight to the jail. Perhaps it would be easier to turn herself over to the constable now rather than waiting until teatime.
”Robert will walk me home,” said Rose. ”I asked him, and he said yes. He will walk me three hundred sixty-three steps until home.”
”Yes, miss,” said Robert. He gave her his arm and she actually took it. Extraordinary.
”All of our books burnt,” said Rose.
”Yes, miss,” said Robert. ”I be right sorry for that.”
”But my book didn't burn,” said Rose.
”No, miss?” said Robert, and off they went: step one. Only three hundred sixty-two more to go.