The Blooding of Jack Absolute (2 page)

Above them, the noise got louder suddenly, the cries of ‘Where’s that damn’d ale,’ coming clearly down. Then a door was opened
above. Jack leaned away and spat dough and raisins behind a brandy cask, running his tongue over his lips to wipe away any
trace that might betray Morwenna’s kindness.

‘Mind that step, Father.’

It was unmistakably his cousin’s voice, that new and strange quaver in it as if it sought to settle. Its caution was ignored
for a roar followed hard upon it, a sound of slipping, a series of guttural oaths.

‘Here, Father, I’ll help you up.’

‘Leave me alone, boy. I am more than capable of aiding myself.’

These words were spoken slow and measured, the phrasing precise, in contrast to the curses. The man on the stair was mastering
himself and Jack and Morwenna looked at each
other in mutual horror. When Duncan Absolute was roaring he was least capable of harm. When he was drunk and attempting not
to be so, he was dangerous. Jack had switch scars on his back that testified to that.

Father and son lurched there, the wavering lamplight giving their faces an equally grotesque cast. They blocked the doorway,
for the Absolute blood tended to produce size and Craster had filled out in the last year, his head coming up above his father’s
shoulder now. But he still had a boy’s face beneath his thick, red-gold hair and his features were coarser than his father’s,
wider at eye, thicker of lip. His mother had been a milkmaid at the Hall and Morwenna had hinted more than once that there
was coercion in the coupling. She had died giving Craster life while Duncan had acknowledged the only child he’d ever produced,
raising him to be Jack’s plague.

In their stance at the doorway, the boy imitated the man in the stare down the prominent nose but what was inherited in the
face of the son was corrupt and bloated in the father. Duncan’s skin was a web of broken vessels while greying hair spilled
out beneath the heavily powdered and ancient periwig, whose curls had unravelled to reveal patches of pink and flaring skin.
He had a habit of rubbing the coarse horse-hair across his head, the regularity of the activity increasing the need for it.

He was doing so now, while his eyes roamed from Jack to Morwenna and around the cellar. Craster simply stared at his cousin
and while Jack tried to stare back, the weakness of his position, squatting and hog-tied made him drop his gaze at last. It
settled for a moment at his uncle’s side and moved on swiftly and too late. For clutched there, in Duncan Absolute’s right
hand, was a bundle of thick and springy staves.

Jack swallowed, trying to get moisture in his mouth. They would break one stave on him in their enthusiasm. Even two would
mean the punishment would be over soon enough. But there were at least five in his uncle’s grasp … and that did not bode well
for his arse.

‘Mrs Tregonning,’ Duncan continued in his formal and steady tone, ‘why do you dally here, when I have guests above who thirst?
You do not bring any succour to this villain, do you?’

Morwenna had stood as soon as she heard the foot on the stair and now waited with head bowed. ‘No, sir,’ she muttered in a
small voice, ‘was … was … just trying to remember which ale you required.’

‘Why, the strong, of course, Mrs Tregonning. You would not have me insult my guests with small beer?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Then about my business, if you please.’

Morwenna curtseyed and went to fill the jugs. Craster moved into the room, stopping before Jack, taking in the bonds, the
raw skin beneath them. Then he gazed past the prisoner, to the floor behind him, and stopped suddenly.

‘Crumbs, Father.’

‘Crumbs?’ Duncan peered.

‘And …’ the boy raised a finger to his eyes, squinted, ‘and a raisin.’

‘A …
raisin
?’
As Duncan spoke, chillingly calm, Morwenna froze, then bent again to her task. She’d begun the second jug.

‘A raisin,’ Duncan repeated. ‘Seems to me that we ate raisins just now, did we not, Craster?’

‘We did, Father. Figgy Hobbans. You commented that they were over-dry.’

‘Ay, yes. They were. And did I not also say – nay, command – that this wretch was not to share any of our food this day?’

‘You did.’

‘Well,’ said Duncan Absolute, his voice beginning to shake, ‘it appears I have been disobeyed.’

The second jug was full and Morwenna, just replacing the spigot in the barrel, was bent over, facing away, when Duncan crossed
the space between them and kicked her. His stride was unsteady and so perhaps the blow was not what it could have been but
it was with the toe of the boot and Jack could see it
hurt. Morwenna gasped, staggered forward, head banging into the barrel, beer slopping from the jug.

‘Leave her be,’ Jack screamed.

Duncan turned and cuffed him with the back of his hand. ‘Take that beer to my guests, you disobedient slut,’ he bellowed.

As she scurried out, he aimed another kick, missed. Morwenna paused in the doorway, looked back at Jack, as if she would say
something. He managed to look into her eyes, to shake his head. She nodded, turned, went. Nothing she could say would aid
him now. Quite the reverse.

‘And now, you whoreson …’ It was Duncan’s most used endearment, yet reserved only for Jack. ‘So you would riot with the peasants
of Penzance. You would bring more disgrace to the Absolute name than your father has already done since he got you on your
doxy of a mother. Well, I have methods here to correct you. Five good and true methods.’ He raised the switches into the air
and Jack could see them clearly for the first time. They were cut from young birch, springy, hard to snap. His cousin’s work.
He shuddered. ‘Turn him, Craster.’ His uncle laid four of the sticks down on a barrel head. ‘Turn him and hold him fast.’

Surprisingly, the boy did not move. ‘May I remind you, Father, of your promise?’

‘Promise?’ Duncan growled. ‘Just do as I say, boy, or I’ll save a switch for ’ee.’

Craster stood still and for a moment Jack had a little hope. Duncan’s temper was like any of his moods, it could change direction
like a breeze off the sea. It could blow into another sail.

‘But I only remind you, Father, to spare you effort. Why tire yourself and remove yourself any longer from your guests’ company
and the fine ale you’ve just ordered up?’ As Duncan licked suddenly parched lips, Craster added, ‘Let me do the beating.’

All hope fled in Jack, taken by the sudden smile that came to his uncle’s face.

‘I did promise you his chastisement, did I not, boy?’

‘You did, Father.’

‘And since it is a special day for the Absolutes, a day of change as well as celebration,’ Duncan’s voice had again become
measured, ‘and since you will be an Absolute in all ways soon enough, you should begin to take on some of that honourable
name’s responsibilities.’ He hiccoughed loudly. ‘To … to have charge of the … distaff side of the family.’

‘It would be my honour to fulfil my duty.’

Father and son smiled at each other. Then Duncan handed the switches across, formally, as if he were passing over a symbol
of his office. ‘Punish him well, boy. Give him a most excellent thrashing.’

‘Oh, I will, Father.’

Without another glance at Jack, Duncan left the cellar, the same step that had given him trouble on the way down catching
him again. Spitting curses, he stumbled beyond reach of their ears.

The slamming of the door above still echoed as Craster turned. ‘Well, cousin.’ Smiling, he sat down on a barrel and, in the
accent he used with everyone but his father, said, ‘You’m fitchered and no mistake.’

Jack tried to think of something to say, some defiance to cast back, but his speech was stoppered by the sight of each switch
being lifted, bent back, laid down in a row on the barrel head in a gradation of suppleness and strength. Jack found he was
gauging each one’s merits almost as keenly as his cousin.

When the fifth had been placed between numbers two and three, a choice Jack found himself disputing to himself, Craster stood,
yawned and began to take off his jacket. ‘I don’t blame ’ee, Jack, wanting to go see the fun. They’s kicking up such a dido
at Penzance, they says, anyone with a uniform is in for a duckin’, at the least. Teach ’em Pope’s arse-kissers, eh?’ Craster
sighed, attaching the coat to a hook on the door, reaching for the knot of his stock. ‘I’d be over to there myself, ’cepting
I didn’t want to miss the celebration here.’ The stock was pulled
from round the neck, laid over the top of the jacket. Even in the pale lamplight Jack could see the excitement in the other
boy’s eyes. ‘You’ve heard? A keenly lode, they say, biggest in these Hundreds for fifty year, more. The Absolute family fortune
made, tis said. Well, part of the family.’ He smiled and reached for one of the switches.

‘Which part?’ Now his cousin looked ready, Jack needed to delay him as long as possible.

‘Mine, boy.’ Craster bent to bring his gaze level with Jack’s. ‘Don’t they say, “The Devil shits luck for some but when it
comes to ’ee, he’s hard bound.”’ He dropped his voice as if confiding. ‘Know what’s going off up there?’ He raised his eyes
to the ceiling above through which the sound of a drinking song came faintly. ‘The curate’s there, along with a few of Father’s
other friends. His cloth don’t make him no less drunk than t’others. Maybe it makes him more so. But he’s come to share in
the family good fortune for Father will get the living over to Morvah out of mortgage. He’ll have to give it to someone. Someone
who’s done us a favour. Someone who has filled in a marriage registry form.’ The voice had now dropped to a whisper, their
heads so close Craster’s lips were almost on Jack’s ears. ‘Someone who has sworn he married my poor ma and Sir Duncan Absolute
before I was born.’

He straightened, swished the stick through the air with a delighted laugh. ‘Sure enough, Jack, you’ll be the only bastard
left on Absolute lands. Till I start gettin’ a few of my own, course!’

Jack winced, but not from the sight of the switch still cutting the air. The pain of a beating, however severe, would pass,
its scars mend. But what gave him the little status he had was that both Absolute boys were bastards; neither could crow over
the other, though Duncan was the elder and held the baronetcy of Absolute Hall, while Jack’s father, James, was the younger,
the wastrel soldier with a mistress and a life of sin in London.

The thought of these people – doxy mother, debauched father – whom he had seen only twice in his life, the last time
so long ago – three years – that he could barely remember them, though he could recall the wren-egg green of his mother’s
frock, pressed to his face, the day they departed Zennor again without him. The idea of them now, leaving him as the sole
bearer of shame, suddenly brought water to his eyes. He turned away, not swiftly enough.

‘What’s this?’ Craster grabbed at Jack’s shoulder, pulling him around, lowering himself to eye level. ‘Cryin’? Cryin’, is
it? Thought I’d never see the day when Jack Absolute deigned to cry.’ He pushed himself off with a hoot of laughter. ‘Well,
have to take ’vantage o’ that.’ He stepped back. ‘Tell ’ee what I’ll do, Jack,’ he continued, that strange quaver in his voice
still making it go up and down, ‘seein’ as good luck has come for us, I’ll pass some onto you. You show us your arse and I’ll
beat only ’un. Break the third stick and it’s over. Don’t, and I’ll use all five on ’ee.’

Jack looked up, gauging the offer. Three sticks wasn’t a bad one; even Craster’d tire after two. But when he saw the triumph
in his cousin’s eyes, when he heard the echo of his own sole bastardy proclaimed, he knew he couldn’t do it. He’d make no
pact with the Devil. He had to beat him.

‘I tell ’ee what
I’ll
do, Craster Absolute. I’ll fight ’ee, here and now.’

The stick paused, lowered. ‘Now why should I do that, when I already have ’ee tied like a hog for the knife?’

They had known each other all their lives. They had fought, one way or another, a thousand times. With luck, and space to
move in, he could outmanoeuvre the bigger boy, for he spent more time with Lutie, learning the wrassler’s ways. Yet in a cramped
cellar, where he’d have to stand toe to toe and punch, his bulky cousin would have the edge. And that gave Jack his little
hope – for he knew that Craster knew that too.

He could see him weighing it now, and pressed home. ‘I pinned ’ee last week with a flying mare and made ’ee shout for terms.
Can do it again too, even in a cellar.’

Craster’s eyes flicked around, measuring the room. His
voice was not all that had altered in recent months. He was a foot taller than Jack now and many pounds heavier.

Jack waited and watched and, when his cousin took the bait, kept his smile to himself.

‘Done. If you vow that when I beat ’ee, you’ll tell all how I did it.’ There’d been an audience for Craster’s humiliation
the week before, Treve and some other of the Zennor boys.

‘Done.’ Jack said it a little too quickly and he saw Craster hesitate as he bent to Jack’s knots.

He straightened again. ‘But just so you can’t try any of your cheatin’ ways …’ He formed a fist, the middle knuckle sticking
out and punched Jack hard in the centre of his upper right arm. As Jack twisted away, he punched him with equal force on the
left. While he cried out, his cousin bent again to the knots. ‘Evens, eh, Jack?’ The fisherman’s knots proving too testing
for his impatient fingers, he drew a small knife from a sheath at his side. As the slashed bonds fell and Jack rubbed life
back into his wrists, Craster ran his foot back and forth over the floor. Stepping behind the mark created, he adopted the
stance of the prize fighter, left fist forward, right back, weight on his rear foot.

‘Come on then, you little bastard,’ he smirked. ‘Toe the line.’

Jack’s arms burned. The blows had been well placed and he wondered desperately if he would be able to lift them at all. For
lifting them was a vital part of his plan. He needn’t get them as high as Craster’s; but he’d need them up all the same.

He stretched them out to the side, groaned, heard his cousin’s gratified laugh. Then he began to stand slowly, making to stagger
slightly to the side while he was still low down to the floor. This brought him near to the cask that held the befouled wine,
close to the chipped pint pot that caught the leaks.