Defective

it as they travelled.

  "I wish I could go with you," he said.

  "You’re not going with them," said Porkchop. "You get sidetracked too easily. Jelly and Forest won’t have time to look for you when you wander off."

  Narrow had told them it would take about three hours to reach the edge of the valley but Forest and the twins arrived in less than two. They looked for signs of old pathways. Jones disappeared through the trees and returned moments later. He whistled for their attention and beckoned them over.

  Large white pines shaded an old, well-worn foot path. It was wide enough for the three of them to walk side by side and it switched back and forth until it narrowed to single file through a hallway of enormous granite boulders. After an hour, the three emerged into the sun-filled meadow at the bottom of the valley.

  They stopped to eat and drink and to consult Narrow’s map. From their new vantage point, it seemed a lot longer to the orchard side of the valley than Narrow had estimated.

  "What do you think?" Jelly asked her twin brother who was slouched against a giant rock more than three times his height. Jelly remembered what the Constable had told them all those months ago and wondered if this boulder had once been part of Honey Hill.

  In the blink of an eye, Jones was atop the boulder. He shaded his eyes with his hand.

  "I could do that in no time," he called down to them. "Coupla hours."

  "Do you remember where to look?"

  "Oh yeah. Pa went over near that weird pine tree that juts out over the edge of the cliff. I can see it from here."

  ___

  From upstairs in the loft, Narrow watched his brothers and sister move across the farm and disappear into the woods. In the heat, both loft doors had been flung open; they only closed them when a storm came through. Narrow sat on the edge of the door frame with one foot on the top rung of the ladder, idly swinging it back and forth. He'd let his leg extend out, his bare toes gripping the wooden rung then bend his knee, returning the ladder to the frame and making a small bonk each time it hit the wood.

  ___

  The Landlord bribed the magistrate in New Key and quickly settled his business. He spent the night at an inn and the next morning shopping for a new suit and boots. In the afternoon when he was ready to leave he discovered that there was no return ferry to Port Abram large enough to take both him and his horse.

  "Sorry, sir, but the ferry you need is gonna be another two days getting here," said the port master.

  He didn’t want to wait any longer than he had to in New Key — only bureaucrats and business men lived there with their proper wives and silent children, and it had none of the more appealing services offered by a town like Andrastyne — but he had no choice. It would be at least a two-day ride to Battery and it was too late to leave now. He stayed another night and left after a late breakfast. He could break the trip up and spend a night at PC Pierre’s cabin.

  The Landlord reached Honey Hill just before sundown. He hadn’t been out this way for a long time. One time, many years ago, he’d been on his way to New Key and a crazy old man wearing red long johns had jumped out from behind some bushes and scared his horse. He had almost lost control and fallen off but had regained the reins and settled the animal. By then, the old man had scampered away.

  Back in Battery later that week the Landlord had described the man to PC Mark, Pierre’s father. He said that the man was an old survivalist; a loner with no family. He had a sizeable farm but only seemed to grow enough food for himself. His land would eventually come open or could be arranged to come open. The Landlord had meant to keep tabs on him but with all his other land dealings and labour camp issues, he never had time to revisit the area for any length of time and, eventually, he forgot about him.

  He hitched his horse and climbed Honey Hill. At the plateau he stopped to catch his breath. Pines blocked most of his view of the lookout post near the cabin but just in case the Constable was in it, the Landlord waved his arm back and forth in one long arc. He then continued up the slope to the top and immediately saw the farm below.

  The property was a good size, several acres, with a large barn and a house. There were rows and rows of crops growing in the field behind the barn. He could make out tall corn stalks supporting rows of beans. It was far too much food for one man. The Landlord knew all the crop distributors between Andrastyne and New Key and the old man was not one of them.

  He watched as the door to the barn suddenly opened and one of the orchard children, one of the daughters, emerge. She had blonde hair and, despite her baggy trousers, he could see she had a good figure. She filled a bucket from the cistern and went back inside. From this distance he couldn’t be sure it was the same one; he seemed to recall that at least two of them had been blonde. Still, he could call her up in his mind in a heartbeat. How beautiful she was, how she stole into this thoughts more nights than not, even those nights when he wasn’t alone. And there was no parent hovering over her now.

  Well, there’s the old man. He must be the relative, he thought, remembering what PC Pierre had told him. Figures they’d be related to a crazy old coot like that.

  He watched the property for a while longer but no one else appeared. The sun had almost set by the time he reached Jonathan. He headed towards the Constable’s cabin; he would go to the farm tomorrow morning.

  ___

  With the Constable’s return Pater had been about to descend the lookout post when he caught sight of a figure descending Honey Hill. He recognized him in an instant. There wasn’t a person in the county who didn’t know who the Landlord was. He was the man who had kicked the children off the orchard and made them his responsibility.

  He kept sight of him as he rode along the road and turned down the side trail that led to the Constable’s cabin.

  Pater wasn’t sure what to do. It had already taken this long for the Constable to show up and he couldn’t go to see him now that the Landlord had shown up; he didn’t want that man knowing his business. But why was he there? Was he trying to steal his land? His soul ached for a drink. Titania wasn’t going to be happy with him.

  By the time he reached the bottom of the ladder Pater’s mind was already at his still, deep in the woods on the other side of Honey Hill.

  ___

  Long grasses zippered open and closed around Jones as he moved through the valley. Every so often he had leapt onto a boulder or scrambled up a tree to check his progress. Less than two hours after he’d left his sister and brother, Jones stood at the base of the cliff. The familiar crooked pine tree hung above him. Beyond that tree was the orchard. Home.

  Jones wasn’t unhappy on the farm. But neither had he been unhappy at the orchard. Like his sister, he was calm and observant and not much fazed him. He had more freedom here; he and Bull came and went as they pleased, going where the game went. When he wasn’t with Bull he was free to be with any of his other sisters and brothers or alone if he chose. But something about the farm wasn’t right. A feeling wasn’t there. The farm didn’t feel like home.

  Jones searched for signs of his father’s body. Blood stains. Fabric. Bone. He found nothing but he knew that didn’t necessarily mean anything. There was a thick, springy bed of water moss at the base of the cliff. Jones jumped up and down on it a few times. If Pa had landed on it, in just the right way, he could have survived the fall. His father could be alive but he could just as easily be dead, killed by a predator and his body dragged away. The heavy spring rains would have washed away any remaining evidence.

  Jones sat down to think. He leaned against a boulder facing the cliff edge and watched as turkey vultures glided above him. The sun was bright and he shut his eyes.

  He opened them to someone he’d never seen before. A woman with a wide face was looking down at him. She held a large pruning knife at her side, the point of its curved blade facing upwards. He scrambled to his feet.

  "Who are you?" she asked.

  Jones had instinctively calculated his escape route
but the moment he moved she appeared in front of him. He tried another route; she beat him to it.

  "So," she said, "you’re one of us. A defective."

  "No! We’re not!"

  "We?"

  "I’m not," he said, flushing.

  She apprised him. He was skinny and had a narrow face and dark brown, almost black hair, slicked back with sweat. His eyes were green, like her brother’s.

  "Your name is Jones, isn’t it? You’re, let’s see, number seven. You were born a minute ahead of your sister Jelly."

  Jones backed up a pace. The woman moved forward a step.

  "You can’t run from me. Besides," the woman said, sheathing the knife, "don’t you want to see your Pa?"

  ___

  Jelly and Forest scouted for plants while they waited for Jones to return. They stopped for lunch when the sun was overhead. They could only carry so much back so they’d carefully selected which plants to bring with them. As they’d foraged Jelly had marked down other plants’ locations so that they could find them on future trips.

  "Too bad we don’t have a Josephine," Forest said.

  "Or a horse," said Jelly. "A horse might be better."

  "Horses are expensive. Why do you think the Constable rides a mule?"

  "Oh I think he likes Josephine," she said. She munched on clover flowers. "You know, Narrow might be able to come up with something."

  "Like what?"

  "I don’t know. But he’s always got an idea for