Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Anthony
“Tea? Sorry, that’s not a question,” Nina said.
She brought him into a large kitchen. A roaring fire in the hearth warmed the space.
The stone floor was rough under his flippered feet.
This was the oldest part of the house with whitewashed walls, exposed beams, and a chaotic wash of colorful tiles.
There was no solid pattern to the tiles, few repeating colors, as if the builder used what was available on hand in a haphazard manner.
A kettle sat on the stove’s warmer, always ready to provide hot water.
There was a pot of something that smelled meaty and rich.
The table smelled of polish, and the scent of a cleaning agent lingered in the air.
Bunches of herbs and flowers dried in a rack hung over the worktable.
Plates too old to be useful, the glaze cracked or chipped, decorated the walls.
Metal canisters painted in a riot of color lined a shelf.
This was a comfortable room, shaped by generations preparing and eating meals at the table. He liked it. Best of all, it was empty.
Anthony took a seat at the table, arranging his long legs carefully to avoid hitting his knees. A pitcher of water and a set of clean glasses waited. Ever thirsty, he poured himself a glass.
Nina pulled two plates of roasted potatoes from the oven’s warmer. Using a ladle, she covered the potatoes with the rich stew.
His mouth watered. The meal was simple but smelled divine and promised to be filling. He waited with his hands in his lap, waiting for her to sit.
“Eat. We don’t stand on ceremony,” she said, waving a hand at him.
“It is rude to eat while you work.”
“You haven’t eaten properly in two days. You must be famished. I’d be famished.”
Needing no further invitation, he grabbed a fork. He’d be lying if he said he savored the meal. He doubted if he tasted it at all considering the speed at which he devoured it.
Their kitchen was a far cry from the massive one at Saltwick.
Uniform glazed white tiles lined the walls, promising a hygienic and sterile environment.
A long workbench filled the room. Cast-iron stoves lined one wall, keeping the otherwise cavernous room warm.
The cook had been kind to Anthony as a child, giving him biscuits or a nibble between meals.
As long as he sat quietly, the cook didn’t care if he lingered in the room.
It was one of the few places at Saltwick that tolerated him.
“Where is everyone?” he asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
Nina gave him an exhausted look and tossed a cloth napkin onto the table.
“My thanks,” he muttered. His behavior was uncouth but he did not have it in him to be mortified. Shame would come once his appetite had been satisfied.
“Keeping their distance while you’re still getting your feet under you,” she said. Then, in a slightly louder voice, “Although I know they’re listening at the door.”
There was muttering on the other side of the kitchen door and scuffling of feet.
“I appreciate it.” Sensations were overwhelming. The candles burned too bright. The fabric of the clothing moved oddly over his scales. That was a sensation he would have to learn to tolerate. At the moment, he drew comfort from Nina’s presence. Anyone else would ruin what little control he had.
“Mama found this in your coat. She thought you’d want it back.” Nina placed a familiar medallion and chain on the table.
His fingers curled around the silver and pulled it toward himself. It stung but he welcomed the sensation as a distraction from the wrongness of the clothing. “I thought I lost it.”
“What is it?” she asked as she busied herself preparing tea. She retrieved a canister from a high shelf, set it on the counter. Using a hand towel, she carried the kettle to the sink.
“A superstitious token to keep the family curse at bay,” he said.
“You speak of it so fondly,” she said in a dry tone.
She poured a bit of hot water into the teapot and swirled it around, then dumped the water.
She refilled the pot with the hot water, added the tea, and brought it to the table.
A moment later she returned with cups, sugar, and a small jug of milk.
“My mother gave it to me as a child and I’ve worn it every day since.” He turned the medallion over, running his thumb over the monster’s visage . “All the Pearsons wear one.”
“You mentioned a family curse. Does that pertain to your condition?” She waved a hand at him, indicating nothing specific about his person.
He frowned. “Did my mother warn me that we have piscine tendencies? No.”
“Piscine tendencies,” she repeated. “That’s very good.”
“This is amusing to you?”
She lifted a shoulder. “It’s a bleak world if you can’t find humor in situations.”
“Yes, and it’s infinitely easier to find the humor in other people’s misfortunes.”
He was not mistaken that she smirked as she served the tea.
“Thank you for returning this,” he said, and put it in his pocket.
“Did it protect you from the family curse?” Nina grimaced. “My apologies. That was poorly worded. Obviously, it didn’t. Was it meant to protect you from the curse?”
Excellent question. He had wondered that himself.
Anthony accepted his cup. It was easy to imagine a young Nina sitting at this table as she did schoolwork, the kitchen bustling around her. No one would have scolded her for fraternizing with servants. No one would tell her off for being too loud.
He sniffed the brew. It was sharp and green with notes of honey. “What is this?”
“Not poison. It’s made of the berries of the mountain ash, also known as the witchwood tree.” Nina refilled his plate and finally sat down. She added a generous spoonful of sugar and a splash of milk to her tea. “It’s bitter. Sugar helps.”
“And we’re not having coffee because?”
“Because witchwood has a long history of protection.”
“Bit late for that.”
She snorted and he didn’t mind that she found humor in his misfortune. Not if it made her eyes sparkle.
“It’s also supposed to keep witches away but there’s four planted around the house. Make of that what you will,” she said. “It is calming and has been known to help control the transformations.”
“Really?” He took a sip of the scalding hot liquid. It was indeed bitter. He followed Nina’s example and added two spoonfuls of sugar.
“Aunt Prudy makes a tonic with it. I’ll find a bottle for you.”
“Thank you,” he said, despite being unsure if he should trust anything brewed by Prudence. “To answer your question, I don’t know if the medallion did anything. I think it’s a warning system. It burned after I was bitten.”
“That’s interesting.”
“Is it?”
She made an affirmative noise. “It suggests that the curse strikes your family often enough that you need a warning system. How many people have been afflicted?”
He took a sip. Sugar definitely helped. “It’s hard to say. We didn’t really talk about it when I was growing up. I had a cousin who disappeared but we didn’t talk about that either. We didn’t really talk about anything.”
“Not that sort of family?”
“No,” he said bluntly. “The Pearson name is old and prestigious. We are reminded of that constantly.”
“While I hate to disrupt your family lore?—”
“I suspect you enjoy it very much,” he said, setting the cup aside. He resumed eating, this time at a less voracious rate.
“We all arrived on the same ship at the same time. No one name is older and more prestigious than another.”
“Was your ancestor the first provincial governor? How many streets in Founding share your name?”
“Ooh la la,” she said in a teasing tone. “Your family is full of snobs. Understood.”
“Horrible snobs. Please, do not underestimate us.”
There it was again, that suggestion of a smile. It filled him with… he didn’t know. His chest felt full, like it would burst, and his head felt light. All of him felt light. It could be happiness in the moment or an air bladder. He’d decide later.
Impulsively, he said, “Come to Saltwick with me.”
Nina
“Pardon?”
“To Saltwick, my family’s house.”
His eyes, large, dark, and unblinking, bore a hole right through her. That he failed to call the family’s house his home did not go unnoticed.
“It’s on the northern coast,” he continued. “Beautiful landscape, if harsh. Gray rocks, gray sea, and gray sky. The tall grass here in the summer reminds me of the sea, you know, the way it moves in the wind.”
Pearson’s rather colorless description answered nothing. “But why?”
“Perhaps it is as you suggest and the family knows something more about my condition. Accompany me.”
“Let me specify, why me?”
“I require a companion. I thought that obvious,” he said. “Come with me.”
The northern coast wasn’t an impossibly far journey but it was a rather long one to take with a man she could barely tolerate. Under no conditions did she wish to undertake such an expedition.
“You’re an experienced man of the world. You don’t require a traveling companion. If you want to return to your home, I bid you farewell,” she said.
“My appearance?—”
“Creates some challenges, I grant you,” she replied, dismissing his concern. “Wear spectacles with dark lenses. Bundle up with a hood, scarf, and gloves to hide your skin condition. It is still cold and the north is colder still. No one will question the layers.”
This did not appease him apparently.
He poured the glass of water over his hand, the water trickling down to the floor. The scales shifted from translucent to blue-green. “And if I’m caught in the rain? Will I change if the weather is particularly humid? If I suddenly lose control?”
“You want a nursemaid.”
“I want a companion. This condition is new and I am unsure of myself. I do not know how I will respond in any situation. I cannot be on my own.”
Regrettably, he had a point.
“Hire a mercenary.” Simple. “Sweetwater is filled with such labor for hire. You’ll have no trouble finding your companion for the right price.”