Elysium. Part Two (9 page)

He scrutinised them for a moment and Selina considered then, as Priya absent-mindedly reclined on the sofa and brushed away grit from the soles of her feet, that she was a dangerously convincing liar.

‘You’re sure it didn’t see you? I had my binoculars, I was watching all the while and I swear it took a sudden interest in something that was in this very room.’

Priya pulled a face and shrugged. ‘We were upstairs,’

He scoured the room for some explanation, and exhaled when nothing struck his imagination. ‘Well, I don’t know. I could have sworn... Perhaps a mouse scurried across the floorboards, I’ve seen Blackeyes chase after no end of rabbits and seagull.’ he let the words hang in the air, as though they deserved approval.

‘Maybe,’ Selina offered, and he seemed appeased.

‘What a morning,’ he sighed. ‘It’s been over in Woolacombe for nearly three hours.’

‘That’ll be why the thing on the window died then,’ Priya remarked, gesturing toward it.

‘It’s a bright day, it’ll charge up soon enough.’ He turned back to Selina. ‘Well, as I’m here I may as well show you down to the mill.’

*

The morning was fresh, and already the sun was warming the streets. Semilion and Selina strolled passed the Smuggler’s Rest and beyond the church, down the steep hill she remembered swearing she would never climb again for fear of cardiac arrest. At the foot of the hill, they veered off the road and into a steep field that transformed to a sea-grass beach at its foot.

‘So I live in Richard Kelly’s house,’ Selina asked as casually as possible.

‘That’s right,’ Semilion replied.

‘Was he an old man?’

‘Not particularly.’

‘How did he die?’

‘Heart attack.’

Selina rolled her eyes, Semilion was obviously the wrong person to ask about Kelly.

‘Eryn seems quiet recently.’ She said, changing tack.

He gave a grunt in response.

‘She’s a nice girl.’

Again he made no reply.

‘She doesn’t leave the pub much, does she?’

‘Listen, Selina!’ He said sharply, before sighing and continuing. ‘I know you and Priya spoke with Eryn. I know she told you about her punishment. It’s the way things work here.’

‘It’s medieval!’

‘It’s the only way to keep people in line is what it is. Especially children.’

‘I don’t agree. She’s hardly a child.’

‘It works here, Selina. It’s the way we do things. You can’t change that.’

‘I don’t want to change anything. I just don’t like the thought of Eryn being beaten!’

‘She stole from Guliven. Thieves are punished! Dammit, at least I did her the decency of not announcing their crime. That would have been unjust, branding them for the rest of their lives.’

‘They only borrowed from his father.’ She said, her palms open as she reduced their crime to a triviality.

‘Neither of them owned that dinghy, if they had wrecked it Guliven would have been a vessel down and the community would have suffered. Now please, Selina, Eryn is almost at the end of her confinement… by the new moon she will be allowed to return to her usual routine.’

‘And what about Boen? Priya and I have never even met him.’

‘He’s fine. He’s being kept busy with his mother. When Guliven returns Boen will continue his routine of bringing in the fish. Most importantly, he’s being kept away from my daughter. God knows what they were doing together in the first place.’

‘Maybe they enjoy each other’s company?’

‘As you already said, you haven’t met Boen. Eryn’s not interested in him.’

‘And yet they were caught together.’ Selina added, goading him. He didn’t look comfortable with the thought, but he said nothing more.

The walk seemed a long one, though Semilion reassured her it was only because she wasn’t used to it. They continued down a steep embankment, the grass gave way to flaking rocks that protruded like bones breaking skin. Thick thorny bushes shielded the dusty path from the air, bathing them in a myriad of sun-white rays that pierced the branches above.

They arrived at an artificial recess, an alcove cut into the base of the cliff. Before them was forged a narrow entrance, jagged and obscured by ivy beyond which, Semilion assured, was the mill.

They passed through the ivy into the darkness of the crevice and came to an empty antechamber. Selina was bemused, watching as Semilion took hold of what appeared to be a huge growth of moss and pulled. The camouflaged door wheezed on its hinges lazily and the antechamber glowed in the light of flames beyond.

The mill was similar to a lighthouse, though subterranean and lit by several thin windows high above the creaking rafters. The structure looked strong and ancient, and drapes of spiders webs wafted lazily above them. Behind two layers of small mullioned windows glowed a furnace on the second storey, which soaked the complex in comforting warmth, and made the cobwebs glitter dustily. Behind the glass she could make out the shape of George donning thick gloves and piling the furnace with thick logs and lumps of coal.

Semilion saw her staring. ‘You'll lose George at the weekend, he brings back coal from the Woolacombe mines. You'll be up there in the furnace room then.’

In the centre of the ground floor was a circular stone block, white with wheat powder. The wooden floor, also, was stained between the grain with dust, which sparkled in the radiance of the furnace.

‘How do they get away with having a fire down here?’

‘There’s a conduit that draws the smoke into moss filters underwater. It’s quite simple really, though I’ll tell you now - God knows Morag and Hannah will tell you often enough - never go into the furnace room with both partitioning windows open at the same time.’

She nod distantly and wiped her brow, almost overcome by the heat. She didn’t want to know what it was like in the furnace room. Semilion saw and smiled thinly. ‘Well, it’ll keep you fit at least,’ he said, apologising for placing her in such laborious employment. She returned a stilted smirk before her attention was drawn to Morag, who leant over a high railing and gave a yelp when she noticed them.

She was a plump woman, though Selina could tell she was strong and by the look of her thick legs had been traversing the embankment and the countless stairs and ladders of the mill her entire life. Her blue eyes gleamed, as though she had borrowed them from an over-awed child, and her hair was tied tightly in a bun. Selina couldn’t tell if it was the flour or her age that had turned it grey.

Morag clapped her hands together, sending a cloud of wispy dust around her like a current about an oar, and she hopped down the spiralling staircase to greet them.

‘Morning Mr. Tupper,’ she said smiling, and then she looked Selina up and down. ‘We’ve not had the pleasure, have we dear. We’ll have to work on those arms,’ she winked, and thrust a large dusty hand towards her.

Selina took hold of it and was surprised how gently Morag received her. She’d expected her fingers to be crushed.

There was a commotion high above. Morag dropped Selina’s hand, and made her way back up the stairs to the flames.

‘Hold on. Hold on will you, Han?’

‘What’s going on?’ Said a shrill voice from above, where the rafters blocked Selina’s view. ‘Where are you, Morry? This stuff ain’t exactly light, you hen!’

‘Enough of that!’ Morag shouted, ‘Mr. Tupper’s here with the new-girl so’s as we can have some much needed help,’

‘Oh... Hello Mr. Tupper. Good morning, Selina, dear.’

‘Morning, Hannah,’ She stopped just behind Morag and looked up to a mezzanine opposite the third storey. Hannah peered over the bannister, her long brown hair trailing towards them, hiding her face.

Morag turned to Selina, saying ‘I’ve been trying to get her to tie that back for years now. Will she do it? Will she ‘eck! Doesn’t mind you see,’ she turned to Hannah ‘people finding strands of it in their pastry!’

‘Oh! That was just the once, you crow!’

‘Crow am I? You wait!’ She bent, and took a handful of flour from a sack, ‘See what you make of this!’

‘Mr. Tupper, make her stop! It’s an incredible waste!’ Hannah cried as Morag neared the ladder which lead to the mezzanine.

Selina turned to Semilion, who was stepping back towards the door, washing his hands of the affair. He saluted a farewell as he stepped back into the antechamber.

Selina turned back to the millers, Morag had desisted from climbing the ladder, and was creating another cloud of powder as she wiped her hands together and looked happy for the mess she was making.

‘Well,’ she said, palms open, ‘this is the mill. The Sayers and Corbins provide the wheat and we make the bread. Who provides the wheat?’

‘The Sayers and the Corbins?’ Selina replied cautiously.

‘Blow me if Mr. Tupper hasn’t sent us a regular savant! We’ll make a miller of you in no time, once we’ve beefed up those arms of yours.’

She gestured Selina back downstairs to the centre of the mill and gave her a brief tour. ‘There’s no better teacher than experience, let me tell you. I’ll show you about for as long as I can, then I’ll put you straight to work. We’re way behind, what with that Blackeye snooping around, but never mind, there’s not much we can do about the past, eh? You’ll pick things up quick enough, I certainly did - an’ I’m sure I ain’t got ‘alf the brains what you ‘as, going to a proper school an’ all,’

Selina looked modest, and listened to how the mill was run.

‘Six rotations per minute,’ Morag explained, as though Selina had a clue what she was talking about. ‘The water-wheel, it’s underneath the building - fuelled by seawater... it turns at six rotations per minute. The gearing from the waterwheel to the shaft driving the running grindstone,’ she indicated the huge cylindrical stone hovering above the one below it, ‘is about thirteen rotations to one. So...’

‘So when the waterwheel has rotated six times,’ Selina concluded, ‘the grindstone has turned eighty,’

‘That’s my girl,’ she leaned close to her, ‘Hannah still doesn’t understand that, bless her.’

Selina learned how to feed wheat into the grindstone and how to keep the stones from touching. ‘Never,’ Morag warned, ‘ever let the stones touch, the friction could start a fire and - what with all this dust around - it’ll blow us to kingdom come before we can curse your name!’

She learned how to collect the powder, how to store it, how to keep it fresh and make it into dough. She felt as though it would be taxing work, though already she liked Morag and Hannah, and looked forward to becoming regarded as a member of their family.

*

Priya arrived at a large building the colour of browned cheese and lined with broken windows.

‘So this is where they teach the kids,’ she sighed to herself, regarding it as being in no better a state of repair than her own school. She had been cursing Semilion since his visit, and had debated with Selina whether she could refuse to work in the crèche. She would rather do anything than spend her hours listening to screaming and having her clothes pulled at. Selina had asked her to not cause a fuss and to at least try, promising that if she didn't like it after a week or two they would ask Semilion if he would consider swapping their rolls. Priya didn't fancy working in the mill much either, though she would definitely prefer it over the crèche.

She stepped up the worn stairs and was presented with a surprisingly clean hall, painted white and lined with rows of old books. She was greeted by two women called Rosa and Briney. Both of whom, to Priya, looked as though they wore masks of cheer to cover empty, exasperated husks.

The crèche actually served as both a nursery for toddlers and a school for the older children, a thin hessian veil separating the two. It wasn't uncommon for a school child to be called across the partition to help with a particularly raucous infant of the crèche, and how they learnt anything with all the crying and brawling Priya thought she would never know.

She was charged with looking after seven girls, all under the age of five, and for the first hour they were placid and pleasant with her, though one of the girls, Edith, had a tendency to bite the others ears. She put her former hesitancy aside and began to enjoy herself as the girls sewed beanbags and other toys of irrelevance.

She listened to what was being taught across the partition, and was somewhat surprised to hear that history was being taught. What need have they of that? She thought.

‘So why did anyone trust the Germans after the second war?’ A girl asked, Priya didn't recognise the voice.

‘Because they were all supposed to be friends,’ Jocelyn answered. ‘The Europeans wanted to trust them; they didn’t want to believe that they would start a war a third time.’

‘So then why did they?’

‘It’s complicated, and to understand it fully you have to understand their economy. That’s not for me to teach you. They believed they should be stronger because they were such a big nation, but they were stopped from being strong by the other countries in Europe. So they decided to take some control away from Brussels, where all the decisions were being made for them, and a war broke out between Europe. It was nothing like the first two wars, no-one wanted anything like that again... Everyone began to fear that maybe Germans couldn't help themselves, maybe they had war in their hearts.’