The Unnameables (22 page)

"And then, listen to this." Earnest flipped pages. "After they sailed her to Mainland, Durward says,
They burnt her weavings. I must burn my poems.
"

"Poems," Prudy mused. "Obviously something Unnameable."

"I'd give a lot to see one of them weavings," Earnest said.

Medford didn't look at Prudy. He suspected she wasn't looking at him, either.

The Goatman chose that moment to open his eyes. "Bweh-eh-eh. Stay-Awake-All-Night Boy has seen a cloth wi-i-ith a goatman on it."

Medford bent his head over Jeremiah's journal as if it contained vital information. He was aware of a smothering silence around him.

"Really," Boyce said. "Perhaps Stay-Awake-All-Night Boy would like to tell us about this cloth."

"A worthy thought, Master Carver. But if thou meanest Master Runyuin, I warn thee not to believe a word he doth tell thee."

Deemer Learned stood in the doorway, Bailey and Ward Constable towering behind him. All three were soaking wet. The Councilor was hatless, and Ward and Bailey hadn't dared tell him that a frond of some Nameless bog plant had draped itself across his head.

"At least Medford doesn't burn our Island's history," Prudy said.

"Burn history?" Deemer said. "Whatever dost thou mean, Mistress Learned? Thou hast taken a fever, perhaps, which explains why thou art in present company. I need hardly say how disappointed I am to see thee here, and thy brother."

"Medford saw thee burning red journals," Prudy said.

"A Councilor of this Island, a Learned, settled by his home fire to read his ancestors' words," Deemer said. "Having no understanding of this, no ancestry of his own, Master Runyuin mistook what he saw, peeping in my window like a Nameless creature of the night. Burning journals indeed. The very idea shocks me beyond words."

"You seem to me to have words to spare, Councilor," Boyce said.

"And a-a-all tanners," the Goatman said.

Deemer ignored them both. "Gather up these journals, Constables. They must be returned to safety. Then take Master Runyuin and his creature back to the jail. They will be gone from this Island at first light."

"These journals be safe enough here," Boyce said. "Medford stays here, too. And no one will be gone until the Town Meeting gathers to advise the Council. I fear thou hast forgotten how our Island runs, Master Learned."

"These journals be Island treasures and the province of the Learneds," Deemer snapped. "They be not for Carvers and Carpenters. And the danger is too great to wait for a Town Meeting. See how easily the boy and his creature escaped this night? 'Tis a miracle we be not blown away by the wind."

He stepped aside so Bailey and Ward had a clear path to Medford. "Boy and creature first, Constables, then come back for the journals." He looked down his nose at Boyce, the Nameless bog frond swaying next to his cheek. "And the journals shall be packed in readiness or Master Runyuin will have companions on the boat to Mainland."

Oddly, Bailey and Ward didn't move.

Bolt not thy food, nor converse when Breaking Fast. Let business await thy digestion.

—A Frugall Compendium of Home Arts and Farme Chores by Capability C. Craft (1680), as Amended and Annotated by the Island Council of Names (1718–1809)

"W
HAT'S WRONG
with Carvers reading journals?" Earnest asked. "Or Carpenters." He fixed his gaze on Bailey, who hadn't moved from the doorway. "Or Constables."

Bailey stared back at Earnest, expressionless. Ward sidled into the room—with surprising delicacy for such a big person—and took Jeremiah's journal from Medford.

"Ward," Prudy said, "did you know that there never was a Capability C. Craft? That some of the Originals wanted to keep their old, Useless names?"

"That I'm not the first to get banished for Unnameable Objects?" Medford added.

"That..." Prudy paused and swallowed hard. "That this is not the first goat—"

"
Silence!
" Deemer thundered. He snatched Jeremiah's journal out of Ward's grasp and threw it into the crate beside Prudy. "Constables, I have given orders."

"Aye," Bailey said. "You have." But he still didn't move.

To Medford's astonishment, Ward retrieved Jeremiah's journal and opened it again.

"Ward," Bailey said, "you're dripping on that book."

"Oh. Beg pardon," Ward said to Jeremiah's journal. He waved it around to get the water off. A blurry brown streak ran down the middle of a page. Medford restrained himself from grabbing the journal away from Ward.

"Put it down till you're dry, Ward," Bailey said. Ward laid the journal tenderly on the table beside Boyce's chair, moving Boyce's teacup so it couldn't spill on Jeremiah.

"Constables," Deemer said.

"Hey, Bailey." Ward lit up with a sudden thought. "If young Raggedy wasn't in jail, where in the Names would he run to? If he chose to run away, I mean."

"That thought occurred to me, too, Ward," Bailey said. "This being an island. If he hid someplace, he knows we'd find him sooner or later. Same with that creature there."

"The creature could have run away tonight, Bailey, but he didn't," Ward pointed out.

"Aye, Ward, that's true. Young Raggedy did a terrible thing, making them carvings, but 'tisn't up to us to decide what happens to him, is it? 'Tis the Council's job, as a group, after a Town Meeting. That's what Pa said—'No one person runs the Council, Bailey,' he said. 'Town Meeting runs the Council.'"

"Essence didn't get a Town—," Earnest began.

"Shhh," Prudy said, hitting him on the shoulder.

But Ward and Bailey were too intent on their own thoughts to be distracted.

"Why do you suppose Councilor Learned had us take those crates from the Archives to his house, Bailey?" Ward asked. "Never did that before, did we?"

"No, Ward, we didn't. Can't remember the last time we cleared the Trade goods out of the jail like that, neither."

"We didn't put Clayton Baker in jail when
he
was 'fore the Council, Bailey. I think I mentioned that before."

"That's true, Ward," Bailey said. "Course, Clayton didn't have a horned creature with him at the time."

"Seems like a perfectly nice horned creature once he calms down," Ward said.

"That's true, Ward."

"Constables." Deemer's hands were clenching and unclenching like Pick-'em-out Shellfish headed for the pot. "'Tis not the province of Constables to decide—"

"Aye, Councilor," Bailey said. "'Tis the Council's province. I believe we can leave Master Runyuin and the horned creature here with Boyce. Mistress Head will call a Town Meeting for tomorrow and then we'll see what's what."

Deemer stood there a minute, adjusting to new circumstances. Had Ward and Bailey ever refused an order before? Medford doubted it.

"Mistress Head will call a Council session and Town Meeting for eight of the clock," Deemer said at last. "I will see to that. I expect all of you there at that time. Failure to attend shall result in immediate banishment." He stalked out. They heard the kitchen door slam behind him.

"That's true about Mistress Essence Learned," Ward said. "She didn't get a Town Meeting before she left. 'Twasn't right, neither." So he had heard Earnest after all.

"Not much time left before eight o'clock," Boyce said. "I'd suggest we sleep for an hour or so. Bailey, Ward, will you stay here?"

"We'll go home and dry off, thankee, Boyce," Bailey said. "C'mon, Ward."

"Bailey, Ward," Medford said. "I thank you."

Ward slapped Medfords shoulder on his way to the door.

"No thanks required, boy," Bailey said. "What's right is right."

Prudy went up to Medford's old room while Medford, Earnest, and the Goatman made beds for themselves on the sitting room floor. The Goatman's robe had dried enough to put on, so Boyce didn't have to give him a second blanket to sleep under. Medford could see that Boyce was relieved about that.

"Try to sleep, boy," Boyce said before heading up to his own bed. "We made strides tonight. 'Twill be fine in daylight."

But Medford couldn't sleep. Outside the sitting room windows, the darkness was lightening to gray. He had just over three hours before the Council convened. Who would be there? Would it just be Boyce and he, Prudy and her family, the Goatman, the Constables? How could Boyce think they'd made strides? Wouldn't the Council just do what Deemer said?

He pondered Bailey and Ward. Medford doubted they'd ever thought twice about the Archives, probably only went up there to fetch and carry for Deemer. But the minute Deemer announced that journals were only for Learneds, there was Ward, opening Jeremiah Comstock's journal and dripping all over it.

Too bad there aren't more Wards and Baileys,
Medford thought, beginning to doze. He let his mind drift ... the Constables and Jeremiah Comstock, Jeremiah and his pots ... the Goatmans hooves and how far up the goat parts went ... Ward calling the Goatman a creature but saying he was nice ... Bailey ... too bad there weren't more....

The thought hit him like a Smith's hammer. He sat up. "There be more," he said.

"Mmmph," Earnest said, and slept on. The Goatman let out a gentle snore.

Medford could see the sky getting brighter outside the window, almost as he watched. What did he have to lose?

He grabbed Jeremiah's journal and Durward Constable's. He left a note on the kitchen table,
Gone to Cook's. Back soon.
Then he let himself out the kitchen door, tiptoed down the steps into the pale dawn, and hurried to Main Street up the alley next to Boyce's shop.

A lamp was burning in Clayton Baker's oven house. Medford's nose told him, whatever time it was, Clayton had taken the first bread out of the oven. His stomach gurgled.

The lanterns were burning at Cook's, too, and smoke was coming out of the chimney. The windows were fogged up. The door opened; voices and laughter tumbled out into the gray air. Violet Waterman emerged, smiling, coffee mug in one hand, steaming biscuit in the other.

Her smile faded when she saw Medford. She passed him by without a word. But once she'd passed he heard her say, "Trade voyage today, boy. Thou'lt be on it, I'm guessing."

He stood outside Cook's door for a minute, searching for courage. He never found it. But he opened the door, anyway.

The morning hubbub ceased as everyone saw who it was. In the silence, he set the two journals down on the wooden counter, met Myrtle Cook's eye. "Tea ...," he started to say, but the word caught in his throat and came out "toggh." He swallowed and tried again. "Tea, if it please thee, Mistress Cook. And a biscuit with ham."

Behind him, someone coughed. Someone else made a slurping sound, which made a third someone chuckle softly.

"I'll need to be paid for this past month's tally afore ye ... if ye be leaving," Myrtle said, not moving to get him his tea.

"I won't be leaving," Medford said. "If I do I'll make arrangements through Boyce."

"Aye," said a booming voice from the end of the room. "Boyce be good for it. This boy be good for it, too, come to that. Get him his tea, Mistress Cook."

Chandler Fisher,
Medford thought. Chandler could make himself heard in a northeast gale or a Town Meeting, and it didn't matter to him which was which.

"I don't see how thou knowst that, Master Fisher," said another voice, a polite, pleasing voice that savored bad news. Dexter Tanner, in his usual place by the window where he could keep an eye on the street. "I never heard of Master Runyuin trading for fish."

"I know good from ill, Master Tanner," Chandler boomed. "And truth from lies. A Useful skill in present company, I might add."

"Thought thou wast in jail, Raggedy," Arvid said, joining Medford at the counter. "Thou and thy creature."

"He was," Dexter said. "I drove him there myself. Quite a fight he put up, too, him and that horned creature. Biting, butting, kicking—"

More tanners,
Medford thought. He almost smiled.

"Did they let you out to pack up?" Arvid asked.

"No, we let ourselves out last night," Medford said. "Then we went up to the Archives to read with Prudy and Earnest." The room made a sound that wasn't a sound, as if everyone had sucked in breath all at once. "Earnest noticed some of the older journals missing. So we went to Deemer Learned's and ... and found..." Maybe leave the burning until later. "Well, we found the journals and took them to Boyce's and read some more, until Deemer Learned came and told us nobody but Learneds can read journals."

He stopped for a rest. Myrtle had put a mug of tea and a ham biscuit down for him, placing them gently so they wouldn't make a noise and interrupt him.

The room was silent, digesting. Chandler chewed on his lower lip, his beard bobbing up and down. Cooper Waterman took a noisy slurp of coffee but no one chuckled. Arvid had a wary look in his eye, as if he were waiting to see what happened next.

"Well, that's as it should be," Dexter said. "'Tis a Learned's province to read in the Archives. Nobody else would know what they was reading."

Medford slapped open Jeremiah's journal, getting everyone's attention. He read out the passage about there being no Capability C. Craft. Clayton Baker came in with a basket of bread and started to say something. His wife waved her apron at him and everyone else said, "Shhhhh."

Nobody said anything when Medford finished with Jeremiah, so he switched to Durward Constable. He read the whole section about Cordelia Weaver's banishment, right down to Durward's comment about burning his poems.

"What's poems?" asked Amalia Fisher.

"Shhhhh," everybody else said.

"Got any more books there, boy?" Chandler asked.

"The rest be at Boyce's," Medford said. "But Master Learned says we can't read them."

"That's right," Dexter said. "We wouldn't know what to make of them."

"Speak for thyself, Tanner," Chandler said. "I know what to make of em just fine. What I can't figure out is why I don't remember any of this stuff from Book Learning."

"So what's poems, Chandler, if you be so smart?" Amalia persisted. "And I never heard you hankering after the Archives before. Why should you care who reads what?"