They ended up in the parlour of the Penrose house, along with half the village, it seemed, crowding in. Aaron, head black and sticky with blood, arm hanging at a bad angle, had been taken to his mother’s home, Bethany with him. Harry Penrose sat by the fire, wrapped in blankets, as did Jonah on the other side.
Jonah was hunched on himself, his hair in black and white chaos, eyes wide and wary, still a little red. He was sniffing, but the blood had been scrubbed away, and so had his earlier glee. Everyone was watching him. He looked hunted already.
“How are your eyes?” Ben asked.
“Fine. I overdid it, that’s all. Tried to do more than I could.”
“And it worked.” Ben squeezed his shoulder.
“As far as that goes. I’m an idiot, Ben. I didn’t even think about us. They’ll hate me now. We’ll have to run again.”
“So we’ll run.” Ben would tell him about Dora later. “You did the right thing.”
“I didn’t do it because it was right.” Jonah wiped away a trickle of seawater that had dripped from his hair. “I like Harry and Aaron, and I didn’t want Bethany to be sad. That’s all.”
“That sounds as right as it can be. And I’m so proud of you I could shout it to the sky.”
“Really? Oh. Well.” Jonah shot a quick smile up at him, then turned his nervous gaze back to the whispering villagers who crammed into the room and stared at him. “They’re still not going to like it.”
“Are they not.” Ben stood, shoving back his stool with a forceful scrape, hand still on Jonah’s shoulder. Every eye turned to him as silence fell.
They were fearful now, but Ben knew about fear in a crowd. It all too quickly became anger, and Jonah was in no shape to defend himself from a mob. That meant it was Ben’s job.
“Right,” he said, in his most authoritative tone. “Who’s got something to say?”
There was a silence, broken at last by Bill Penrose. “So. New aleman flies, do ’e?”
“What is he?” someone demanded, and there was a clamour. Bucca stood out from the flying words, and spirit, and witch. Ben slammed his hand against the wall, loud thumps demanding silence, until everyone looked at him.
“He’s not a spirit or a bucca.” He kept his other hand on Jonah’s shoulder, feeling the tension. “He’s not a freak or a demon. He’s a man like you, except that he’s got a gift.”
“Magic,” someone said.
“If you like, but what he does is walk on air. He doesn’t curse livestock or spoil milk or whatever else you may be thinking, and I won’t hear any nonsense about that. That’s the first thing. The second thing is, it’s his talent to use. Nobody else’s. So if any man here thinks there’s something wrong with Jonah, or if any of you are thinking how you can use him, or if any of you don’t want us here, for any reason at all”—he met Dora’s eye, challenging—“you say so right now and we’ll be gone, as soon as Jonah’s slept off saving Harry Penrose’s life, and please God Aaron Tapley’s too.” He wondered what more to say and fell back on the old formula, so often used to a rowdy crowd on the edge. “We aren’t here to cause trouble, but I won’t have any trouble caused.”
“All very well,” grunted Bill Penrose into the silence that followed. “Fine words. But I tell you this.” He levered himself up, and glowered at his neighbours, calloused hands clenching. “That there bucca saved my brother, and his boy, and what’s more the Dainty Jane. Anyone got words for ’im, you’ll feel my fists.”
“I’ll give you words,” Dora said. “My Agnes told me she saw yon Jonah flying in the sky and I gave her a clout for storytelling. What do I say to her now, Ben Spenser?”
Ben opened his mouth, couldn’t think of anything to say to that. “Uh…admit you were wrong?”
“Oh, right,” Jonah said from the fireside. “I just do magic. You’re asking for a miracle.”
Laughter exploded from every throat, powered by relief as much as anything. The villagers surged forward to Jonah, a chorus of marvelling voices raised in questions and astonishment. Harry reached across the hearth, hand out, and at Ben’s shove, Jonah took it.
“I dunno about magic.” Harry’s voice was hoarse. “But I’d not be here now but for ’e.”
“Aye.” Bill Penrose slapped a hand on his thigh for emphasis. “Good man, yon bucca. An’ pulls a good ale too.”
Someone tapped Ben’s arm and he looked around to see Dora. She opened her mouth, hesitated. Then she gave him a small, rueful smile, and after a moment, Ben smiled back.
Chapter Fourteen
Ben rested his elbows on the bar of the Green Man, filled with content.