The Book of Koli (Rampart Trilogy #1) - M. R. Carey Page 0,23

would go crazy from it. But now there’s two of us knows, it’s a lot easier.”

He left me the jug, and the secret of his heart’s choosing, and walked on back to the gate.

I drained the jug dry before I got up.

12

Then Molo Tanhide, that was Spinner’s father, took sick. His lungs had always been bad, on account of the chemicals he mixed up in his vats. He was a dyer as well as a tanner, and both jobs involved strong brews and sour, steaming air. Now Molo couldn’t hardly catch a breath at all, and it was a painful thing to see him try. He kept his mouth wide open while his throat worked and his hands twitched and shaked. And yet his chest barely moved, this while. There was not much air going in there, for all the effort he put into it.

The hope was that Molo would last until the end of the Summer. There was a wandering doctor that come to Mythen Rood in Falling Time. Her name was Ursala-from-Elsewhere, and she brung strong medicines. But Falling Time was a long way off and Molo’s sickness growed on him fast and hard. In the meanwhile, Shirew Makewell done what she could. So did Rampart Fire, declaring the tannery a share-work so Spinner could tend to her father while others done what was needful at the vats.

I went there every day to drop off food for her and sometimes to help her mix the dyes or soak the hides, although I was not let off from my duties elsewhere and could sometimes only stay for a little while.

Haijon had more time to spare, since Ramparts did not have to heed the call to share-work. His sole, single duty was learning the cutter, and even that he could only do when Mardew let him borrow it. So a lot of times when I come to the tannery I found him already there.

It should of been like old times, when the three of us was shut up in the Waiting House together, but it never was. There was too much between us now, though it did not ever get said out loud. He loved Spinner and I loved her too. I’ve taxed my thoughts with wondering whether either of them knowed how I felt, but I can’t answer that. Seeing how hard it was for me to speak for my own self, I won’t presume to speak for anyone else. Anyway, I found Haijon’s always being there a burden, and I don’t doubt he thought the same thing every time I come along. For each of us would rather of been with Spinner alone.

Alone is the wrong word though, with Molo in the next room dying slowly. His breathing, like the sounds of a man put to torture, was the background to all we said and done. Sometimes I sit and talked with him while Spinner worked, though not as often as I should of done. I was fifteen years old, I thought myself in love and in all respects I was as shallow as a puddle.

Summer ended, which we always greeted with relief. The forest was less likely to move now, meaning that hunters could go more freely and fresh meat become a possible thing again even for them as kept no ducks or chickens.

One morning in October, the bell on the gather-ground rung when we Woodsmiths was at breakfast. It rung in the two-then-one peal that meant a death, not the wild jangle that meant a danger. My mother set down the apple she was eating and was out of the door without looking back. We all followed right behind her, Mull stopping only a moment to take the porridge pot off the fire. It sounds cold, but it was one of my mother’s sayings that them as waste good food is cursed to starve. It was something my sister done without even thinking of it, nor it didn’t mean no disrespect for the dead, whosoever it was.

On the gather-ground, Catrin was standing on one side of Spinner, and Haijon on the other. The other Ramparts was all there too, which was unusual. Spinner’s eyes was all red from crying, so I knowed right away before a word was said.

“Molo Tanhide died in the night,” Catrin told us. “Spinner found him this morning, not moving. She fetched Shirew Makewell and Shirew called him dead. His goods is passed to Spinner since she was his onliest kin. Anyone