Snow Page 7

  Before her was a person or creature she didn’t think she had met yet, presumably the one who had just spoken. He was short and lean, tightly muscled and sinewed. Older than she, but hard to tell by how much. He had the friendliest face so far, with beady little black eyes but a comic, pointy noise and smiling lips that almost made her forget his large pink-and-gray ears and the long gray tail snaking down to the floor.

  “She was in my place,” Cat hissed. As it flung off its cloak Snow realized with a start that Cat was a young girl. But as this young girl flipped the rain out of her hair and slicked it back, Snow got a good look at the claws that had threatened to rip her throat out.

  “So you decided to keep her?” the man—rat, Snow decided—asked.

  “She saw us,” another explained. This was the short, plumper one, younger than Cat. Was that Sparrow? He did have a round face, large brown eyes, and a beaky little nose.

  “Obviously,” the rat-man said dryly. “What I’m trying to figure out is why you decided to bring her back to our hideout? You know? Hideout?”

  “We didn’t know what to do,” the tallest one admitted. He still had his cloak on.

  The rat-man sighed. He cocked his head at her the way she had seen many rodents do when deciding to flee or investigate something more closely.

  “I won’t tell anyone, I swear it.” She was trying to be brave but could not stop the tears from silently leaking out down her cheeks, or her chin from trembling, any more than she could help noticing his pointy teeth and nails. “I will forget everything I’ve seen if you let me go!”

  There were snorts and growls of disbelief.

  “Ah. Well. About that we shall see,” the rat-man said, not unkindly. “But what’s your story, Princess? Nice clothes like that, nice skin—you’re not poor. What’s a girl like you doing in the streets?”

  And so, surrounded by a gang of half-human, half-animal people in flickering lantern light, Snow told a slightly edited story of her dead mother, her father, her stepmother, the fiddler and her escape, and the cutpurse who left her penniless. She mentioned no names or stations.

  The members of the group became enraptured despite themselves. She could tell from their widening, dark eyes. Sometimes they fluttered, like the one in the back, and Cat’s tail flipped back and forth slowly as if she were about to strike. Although Snow wasn’t sure what telling the story would accomplish, she prayed it would at least soften their hearts a little.

  “Fairy tale,” Cat hissed. “Made-up stories.”

  “Highly unlikely,” said another.

  “Unbelievable,” stated a third.

  “Oh? And what are we?” the rat-man demanded. “I would be far more likely to believe that an insane old crone tried to kill her stepdaughter than in a pack of … of … us.”

  “If you please,” Snow asked, quietly but still surprising herself with her boldness. “Who are you?”

  “We?” the rat-man grinned. “Why we, dear lady, are the Lonely Ones.” He swept down in an elaborate and graceful bow that almost touched his head to the floor. “Castoffs and the swept-unders of the grand carpet of society. Thieves and poets, every one. And you have seen us, and that is very dangerous.”

  “But why? I could not harm you,” Snow asked, eyeing his claws.

  “No, but the authorities could. The Queens finest. Fleet Street. Or, even worse, the circus.”

  Everyone shivered.

  The rat-man tapped his tooth with a claw. “Does your father still love you?”

  Snow started. She had not expected the question, and now that it was asked did not have a ready answer. Does my father still love me? Maybe, in a fashion. She remembered him being particular about her introduction to the duchess, and the toys he had bought her over the years. It wasn’t his fault that her mother had died, or that Snow looked like her …. “Yes, I suppose he does,” she answered slowly, though no more certain of the answer than before.

  “Excellent!” The rat-man grinned again. His teeth gleamed like bones in the light. “We shall demand a ransom for you. Besides our fat reward, your father will find out the truth about your stepmother and everyone will live happily ever after. Sparrow, come here and bring me a piece of parchment.” He rubbed his hands together, very much like a rat, and sat down to prepare the note.

  “No!” Snow cried out. “No, please! Don’t make me go back.” Despite her best efforts, she began to sob. “P-please, I beg you—she’ll kill me, she’s mad. … She locked me up for two years …”

  The rat-man’s eyes went wide with surprise and horror at her display. It was certainly not the reaction he had expected. Nor, Snow realized, was it the one she had expected, either.

  “But certainly once you speak to your father, you can explain. She daren’t try it again.”

  “You don’t understand. She has some sort of hold over him. Over all of them.” She thought about Alan and his strange devotion to the duchess, and the fear the other servants had of her.

  All of the craziness inside her—the tears, the sorrow, and the horror of the last few days—crashed against the inside of her skull. My stepmother was going to have me killed. The craziness of it made her cry more. “Please don’t send me back. I beg you.” She fell to her knees, wracked with sobs.

  “Is there anything we can do?”

  This might have been said by the tall one; she could not be sure.

  The rat-man tapped his tooth again for a long moment. “All right then. We shall solve both problems—ours (your having seen us) and yours (having no place to go)—at once. You shall stay here and cook for us and clean our place for us.”

  Everyone blinked at this, Snow and the Lonely Ones together.

  “All right?”

  “Isn’t that dangerous?” the short, fat one asked.

  “If she goes to the police there will be questions. About her. Resulting in a quick ride home and probably a fat reward for the bobby who brought her.” He frowned at the thought of the money he was missing out on and gave her a hard look. “Besides, we’re giving you a chance, Princess. You’re not going to mess that up, are you?”

  “No,” Snow whispered. “Thank you.”

  Her mind raced. A couple of days ago she had been a miserable young lady of high estate. Then she had been a girl on the run. In neither situation did she imagine she would wind up as a maid for a pack of demons. It was the best, no, only option she could see at this point. At least I know how to clean and cook, she thought wryly. And it’s a good thing I like animals.

  “That’s that, then. I think introductions are in order. What’s your name, Princess?”

  “Jes—,” she began, then stopped and thought. “Snow,” she said decidedly.

  The rat-man stared at her, but did not question.

  “Well, we are all in the big city together, and no one cares about your old life—that’s fine. Choose whatever name you like. This is Cat; you’ve already met her” The girl—cat—in question didn’t extend a paw to shake or say a “How d’you do?” She may have been part animal, but Snow could already see she was going to have problems with the human, girl side of hen “And Raven.” He was the tall one. Raven took his cloak off and revealed pale skin with high, high cheekbones. His eyes were dark brown, and except for black, black hair he seemed to lack animal attributes. Snow reminded herself to thank him later for intervening and bringing her to their hideout. “And Sparrow.” The other boy, short and plump, made a little bow. Soft brown feathers crested in place of his eyebrows. “The Mouser is on his rounds.”

  “And you are?” she asked, though she could guess.

  “Chauncey,” he answered, grinning.

  Chapter Fourteen

  LIFE WITH THE LONELY ONES

  Snow woke up late the next day. No one had bothered to rouse her.

  As to where she was, Snow was only confused for a moment. Even before she opened her eyes the smell confirmed what she might have dreamed. I really am living with a gang of half-animal demons. Either that or I ha
ve gone completely mad. But so far she seemed safe, safer than she had apparently been her entire adolescence. She fingered her locket, given back to her before she fell asleep the night before.

  No one was in the main room. She waited for what seemed like a long time, and still no one came in. Deciding it was probably safe, she changed into one of the other outfits she had packed, a more roughly spun old dress that was more suitable for chores and for the company she now kept. I wonder if I could hang a line up to make a private space for myself in the corner? She smiled, amused at how quickly she seemed to be adapting to her new, alien, situation.

  A quick search of the room proved an absence of water basin and pitcher. How do they wash? She imagined Cat licking herself all over and decided not to think about it.

  The floor was hard-packed earth covered with a layer of grime and filth at least a half-inch thick. Many of the rags on the bottoms of the piles strewn about the room were moldy and would have to be thrown out. There was no broom. She moved a chair to look at the table better; it had many years’ worth of ground-in wax and stains.

  “Here now, what’s this?”

  A bleary-eyed Chauncey stumbled in from his room, running his fingers quickly through his short brown hair like a—like a rat.

  “I’ve begun cleaning.” She wasn’t sure whether she should say “Sir.”

  “Now?” Chauncey looked at the bright morning light that shone outside their tiny windows. “In the day?”

  “I thought I would—”

  “The first thing you should realize, Princess, is that the Lonely Ones work at night. Unless you thought old Chauncey would get up at the crack of dawn, have his cuppa tea, and stride briskly through the bright morning streets with all the other workday chumps, me ears sticking up and me tail hanging out back?”

  She opened her mouth to apologize.

  “Wake me when it’s dusk.” Chauncey yawned and stumbled back to his room. “And for the love of Michael, keep it quiet until then!”

  It was a very long day. There was very little Snow could do that would not make any noise except sit quietly. She spent an hour or two sorting out the cloths and rags on the floor—a pile to be thrown out, a pile to keep…. After that there was nothing. Snow was used to long days of nothing, however, from her years of confinement.

  She looked at the picture of her mother in the locket for a time. She thought over and over again about the last few days, her stepmother, the last few years…. She cried a little to herself, thinking about how it all went wrong—or perhaps how it had never been right.

  How could her father have married someone that crazy? Didn’t it show at all when he was courting her? How could none of us see how crazy she was in the years that followed? She thought about Alan and how he seemed unable to speak about what went on in the duchess’s chambers. Surely he would have warned her, if he had known? His words came back to her from a day long ago: “Ye shouldna mess with magic, Jess. A bad spell turns back on the caster times three, as my grandmum says. And … it does things to people. Or maybe the type of people who do it are of a sort, touched….”

  Why hadn’t he been clearer? Why didn’t I listen?

  She thought about her father and wondered if he had set up a search for her, and whether someone really would post a reward, as Chauncey had seemed to hope. Or would they both just be happy to be rid of her? Maybe the old duchess could have a baby now, or “find” one…. Where was Alan? Was he thinking about her?

  She lay down and thought and worried, and half-dozed the day away.

  The sun finally set and Chauncey reappeared, much more sprightly and awake than when Snow had seen him earlier. She was waiting for him patiently in a chair.

  “Now then, this is a reasonable time for a body to be up and about!”

  He stretched and grinned. Sparrow slunk into the room more sleepily. Snow wondered if it was hard for him to be awake at night, being part-bird of a type that was used to the day. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and when he flexed his shoulders grumpily Snow noticed with a start tiny wings fluttering off his back. They were like a cherubs, but brown.

  She made herself look away. Sparrow didn’t seem to notice her staring.

  “Chauncey, I—I will need some supplies to begin keeping house properly.”

  Once she had exhausted her supply of memories and worries, she spent the remaining hours of daylight composing in her head a list of things she would need.

  “Oh! Demands already! And not a day into the club! And what exactly would you be needin’, Princess?”

  “Well, food, for one, if I am to prepare your dinners,” she responded archly.

  Sparrow guffawed. “She’s got you there, Chaunce.”

  The rat-man’s eyes widened, but he smiled. “Fair enough, my sweet! Roasts and pigeons and lark’s tongues for us all!—Sorry, Sparrow”

  “No worries,” the boy answered quickly, but looked like—Oh goodness, it looks like he got his feathers ruffled.

  “Well, I don’t know about lark’s tongue, but I can make a good pie. Also, I shall be needing a broom, and soap, and a bucket—and water”

  “Oh, aye, we’ll get ye all that,” Chauncey agreed, but looked a little lost, as if he hadn’t quite realized what he had gotten himself into. Raven came out, barely visible as he slipped through the shadows and stood in a corner, tall, gaunt and crook-necked.

  “Will someone get that girl up?” Chauncey yelled, finding something he could get ahold of easily, his own territory again. “She’ll sleep the night through if we let her.”

  “Just like a cat,” Snow said before she could stop herself.

  She covered her mouth in horror. The others stared at her in shock. Then Raven gave the faintest whisper of a smile.

  “Aye” Chauncey said. “Just like a cat.”

  It was strange the way they seemed to both be perfectly accepting of their … features, yet also a little disquieted by them, as if they had been that way their entire lives but were the only ones they knew of like themselves. The Lonely Ones. It was more than just a cute name. She would find out about their backgrounds, she promised herself. One of these days. Just probably not today.

  There was a rap on the door.

  “That would be ol’ Mouser now!” Chauncey said before disappearing into Cat’s room.

  Raven unlatched and opened the door.

  Whatever Snow was expecting, it wasn’t the Mouser. She was prepared for a short, fat little man or boy with a round face and kindly, cute features. She thought of the mice at Kenigh Hall.

  What Mouser actually was: a young man almost as tall as Raven, skinny as a rail, with elegant sharp eyebrows and an equally sharp and elegant nose. His eyes were gray and his cheekbones high; his hands were gloved so it was impossible to see if he had claws. At least he has a tail, Snow found herself strangely relieved to note. His ears were a nice mix of human and mouse, barely noticeable.

  “Oh my,” he declared, seeing Snow. “What is that?”

  “That’s Snow,” Sparrow answered. “She’s goin’ to be our maid and cook.”

  “How splendid!”

  With a graceful motion he swooped into the room and clapped his hands together. His clothing was much neater than the others, with real trousers and coat, Snow noticed, and his hair was combed back properly, with perfect sideburns. “We shall finally make a civilized place of this mess. Oh, how refined.”

  “Mouser’s the gentleman,” Sparrow explained needlessly. “’E actually talks to the Others. Keeps up on what’s what.”

  Others, Snow thought. Normal men and women.

  With another gesture too fast to follow, the Mouser had her locket in his hand and flicked it open—yes, there were definitely claws beneath his gloves. He studied the picture for a moment.

  “Your mother?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  “She’s dead” Sparrow again said helpfully.

  “My sympathies,” the Mouser said—genuinely, she was sure. He closed the locket care
fully and let it fall gently back against her breast.

  Not what I expect in a mouse at all, Snow thought.

  Cat slunk out of her room, sleep still in her eyes and hair. Chauncey barred her way back to bed, crossing his arms and glaring at her.

  “Well, the news is most interesting today, I daresay.” The Mouser clapped his hands together and spun around, collecting the audience with his eyes. “It seems as if our fair section of Covent Garden is finally to get some gas lamps. Also, bustles are getting even larger, if that’s possible. You should see the new line on High Street….”

  Sparrow rolled his eyes.

  “The Mouser, he’s a great one for talk and gossip,” Chauncey said. “’Specially when he’s the one doing the talking and the gossiping. Come on now, you lot. Off we go. Sparrow, you come with me. We’ll get Princess her stuff and come back to a spic-and-span hideout in the morning! And, speaking of, my chaps, regardless of what you have heard, this is still a hideout.” He raised one eyebrow for emphasis. “No more bringing home strays, you hear? We are not a charity house.”

  Snow tried not to smile. The others pretended to ignore Chauncey, but even the Mouser, who seemed to be the oldest, looked like he was really listening. It was obvious that their leader cared deeply about them, his gruff and comic exterior belying the deep, almost fatherly affection.

  Cat scratched herself luxuriously all over and ran her claws through her hair. Snow wished she could take a good comb to it; it was thicker, blacker, and more beautiful than almost any normal girl’s. It would be gorgeous up in a bun….

  The younger girl caught Snow staring at her and growled.

  Snow didn’t have long to wait before Chauncey and Sparrow came back with all manner of things for cleaning and eating, obviously unsure of what was appropriate, obviously never having done any cleaning or cooking themselves. There was a shoulder of pork, some carrots, and a few potatoes. The only seasoning they brought back was salt, but she was surprised and pleased that they even thought of it. Sparrow was laden with two buckets of water, just barely enough to get any job done. The rat-man wished her good luck, and once again she was alone.