big, beautiful book bound in soft black leather and filled with thick sheets of parchment. She wanted to write her descriptions in proper ink that she’d made herself, and Magpie to paint the illustrations in soft watercolours. Leveret sighed again. She knew it would happen one day. Her own Book was what she wanted most in the world.
Her green eyes flew open from their drowsing as the door swung open and the candle guttered, but of course it was only Magpie. Nobody else ever bothered with the place. She noticed, before he shut the door, that the sky was lightening outside and she knew she must get home very soon. But Magpie put paid to that. He lurched across the tiny room and placed a hand on her hair, stroking the silky curls. His lips curled in his twisted smile and his beautiful eyes, usually blank and devoid of any focus, shone at her.
‘Blessings, Magpie,’ she laughed. ‘What a lovely surprise. I’ve just recorded the mushrooms. Do you want to draw them now before they start to dry up?’
He shook his head and fished in the voluminous pockets of his large and disgusting coat. Magpie’s coat was infamous; he wore it in all weathers, clinging to it even in the heat of the summer. It was ancient and filthy but he refused to part with it. From the pocket he drew a hunk of loaf and a handful of roasted chestnuts, and then a small metal can on a handle. He fetched two mugs from the dresser and clumsily poured milk for them both and shared out the food. She smiled gratefully and sank her sharp teeth into the stale bread as Magpie sat down on the floor to eat his breakfast. Magpie always sat on the floor to eat. Leveret finished quickly and brushed the crumbs from her lap.
‘I must get back now, Magpie,’ she said. ‘Mother was furious last night. I’m in such trouble so if you don’t see me around for a few days you know why. But look for me at school and hopefully we can walk home to the Village together each day.’
She started to get up but Magpie, still on the floor, shook his head and laid it on her knee, holding her calves tight.
‘What is it, Mag?’ she asked softly, knowing she must get home quickly. Even now it was probably too late. Magpie started to sob, the horrible guttering noise that she knew so well. Poor Magpie had a lot to cry about and it was one of the few ways he could express himself. Leveret stroked the hair, matted and lank, away from his face. He was always dirty unless Maizie or someone else involved in Welfare intervened and insisted that he have a bath. Maybe she should start helping him herself, taking him to the Bath House every week and ensuring that he went in and cleaned himself up. It’d never really bothered her before, as she’d grown up with a filthy Magpie by her side, but lately he’d started to smell horrible. She realised that even someone as different and backward as Magpie had finally reached adolescence.
He must have sensed her thoughts for he looked up at her with sad eyes. Magpie’s eyes were his best feature – large, clear and a beautiful turquoise. When he washed his long hair it was lovely too, a rich butterscotch colour, but usually it was several shades darker and duller with dirt.
‘ Magpie hurts .’
‘Where does it hurt?’ she asked.
He pulled back the hair from his temple and she saw a small blue lump. Then he rolled up a dirty trouser leg and she saw another blue lump, much bigger, on his shin. He looked like a kicked puppy and her heart went out to him as always. He led such a miserable life, neglected by his mother, grandmother and great aunt, and badly bullied by his cousin Jay and anyone else who could be roped in to have a go.
‘Who did it, Magpie?’ she whispered, gently touching the bruise on his temple. ‘Was it Jay?’
He nodded and tears trickled down his dirty cheeks. His cousin Jay was the torment of his life. The abuse had started at an early age in the strange household where they grew up together, little Magpie neglected