The Faintest Ink (Watty Winner 2015)

Chapter Twenty-Six

Back in the safety of her room, Blossom wrapped the ribbons around her fingers, smoothing out the satin, before tucking them away in the drawer. In truth, she'd felt a bit silly wearing them.

She didn't know why Pa gave them to her. She never wore red. It clashed with her hair. But for some reason he thought the colour was appropriate for the scene. Three red ribbons tied in exuberant knots. One around the neck, and the others tied around her wrists. Little Lake eyes had turned bright green with jealously when she saw them. Papa had been forced to tie the chewed-up ribbons at the end of her plaits into matching, finger-fumbling bows.

Caul, the butcher's boy that is, said they made her look like a bohemian. Or at least, that's what she thought he meant when he said she looked like a moon-gazer. She'd swatted him around the shoulder anyway, just in case.

Mistress Baker hadn't agreed. She'd pursed her lips into a line so thin they almost disappeared in her wrinkled face when she spotted them.

"I should have thought a girl like you would have a bit more respect."

Blossom hid her hands behind her back and tucked her chin deep into her shawl as if covering the evidence would block Mistress Baker's piercing stare. "I'm here to pick up the pie Ma ordered," she said, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Mistress Baker blinked, crossing her thick arms across her chest forming a cliff-like ledge on which to perch her quivering chin.

"I've made nothing today. It wouldn't be right." She sniffed. "As if anyone could work when our dear King has been butchered by..." she drew in a shuddering breath, before closing her eyes and sweeping her hands past her ears as if to block the thoughts of the news they'd heard the previous day.

Blossom rocked on her heels. She always hated it when adults did that thing with their hands. Although she was supposed to do it now too, now that she was named, she still didn't see the point. It was a show and nothing more, to let the world know that they had no sympathy for treasonous thoughts. As if blocking ones ears and covering your eyes could keep the evil in the world from infecting them. But she copied the gesture all the same. Mistress Baker was a gossip if ever there was one, and they'd be talk all over Needle Lane if she didn't.

With her eyes tight shut, she waited for Mistress Baker to release her breath in a sigh before opening them again. The old woman was already stepping back and pulling the door closed after her. Blossom's hand flew up to take Mistress Baker's sleeve and the baker's wife looked down in horror, as if a mouse had decided to climb up her stockings. "What on earth are you doing child?"

"Da's patron is coming round for supper tonight. Ma needs that pie."

"Well you can tell your Ma that if she insists on entertaining guests on a day such as this, she has best do her own cooking. She'll have none of mine." And with that her hand was swept away with a sharp slap and the door closed in her face.

Blossom flinched, and skittered backwards, off of the stone step and into the street, almost toppling backwards. As she righted herself, she looked around from under her lashes, checking that no one had seen before deciding how embarrassed she needed to be. The street was empty. After the heaving mass of humanity that had poured out into the city yesterday, it all felt unnaturally still. Everyone had closed their doors to the world, as if they could hide from the future.

It wasn't completely deserted.

There was an old man sitting outside The Bleeding Monk. He was looking her way with the most unnatural grin spread across his face. As he caught her gaze, he nodded and waved his empty cup at her. The lack of passing trade had severely dented his ability to gather alms.