‘The doctor pays quite a lot for them,’ she said, looking wistful. ‘Black ones have special properties, you see. But Ra-cha doesn’t approve. I suppose he’s right. It is a bit cruel,’ she concluded. ‘Come in.’
The smell of sawdust met us on the next threshold. For some reason I’d expected a toyshop, but it was more like a cabinetmaker’s; there was a section of banister along one wall, stacks of wood air-drying, planks with glass insets that looked like they were meant for another gantry. Low tables, stools – some very simple, some finely worked – door handles and bowls. There were toys too, tiny ships and spinning tops, and everything smelled of new sawdust. It was hard to see how she could have managed, but she had; the glass handles on her tools had all been shaped irregularly, to fit her good hand. As she led me through, something pattered against my ankle. It was sawdust. It floated an inch above the floor.
‘Inti – how is it doing that?’
‘It’s whitewood.’ She gave me a rough-cut chunk of timber. It felt much too light for its size. When I held it up, it was porous, full of miniature honeycomb chambers, the same as the wood at home. ‘Never put that in a fire, it—’
‘Explodes,’ I said. ‘I know.’
‘Don’t forget. All the gantries are whitewood. One match and whoomf. That’s why we have heating pipes instead of open fires indoors.’
‘Why are they whitewood, if it’s dangerous?’
‘To take all the weight of the buildings. It bears much more than kapok.’
‘It’s not even a hardwood,’ I protested. If I pressed hard I could put a clear nail mark in the grain, if it could even be called grain.
‘The forest is blessed by the markayuq. It’s one of their miracles.’
I gave up.
Raphael dropped an armful of laundry down the ladder and followed it. He disappeared briefly into the kitchen and I heard him grating soap, and then he collected up the clothes and came through with it soaking in a bowl of steaming water. He turned sideways to get past Inti and opened the next door outside with his elbow. Beyond it was a tiny garden with a goat and a vertiginous washing line, hung at either end with lamps. When Raphael set the bowl down in the snow and knelt to start washing everything, the goat clopped across to investigate, looking dangerously close to eating the laundry. Raphael threw the carrot we’d brought into the far corner to make it go away. It clopped off again, more enthusiastically. The whole thing had the look of a long-established protection racket.
‘You might as well stay for dinner now,’ Inti said happily. ‘It’ll take him a while to get through all that and my son will be back soon.’
‘Oh. I don’t want to intrude,’ I said, distracted because Raphael had sunk his hands straight into the hot water. If it was from the stove, it was boiling.
‘Rubbish! We hardly ever have proper guests.’ The front door closed. ‘Oh, that’s Aquila now. Now you have to stay. He’s Ra-cha’s clerk; he’ll be a priest one day. He needs to practise his proper Spanish.’
‘In that case – yes, sorry, hold on.’ I tapped on the window. It was thin enough to hear through.
Raphael looked up.
‘Put some snow in that. It’s too hot.’
He frowned but did as he was told.
‘He can’t feel it,’ Inti said.
‘But it must still be burning him.’
She looked sceptical but didn’t have time to argue.
‘I’m here, Mum,’ a boy’s voice called through from the kitchen. ‘I’ve brought Maria, I think she’d be better for a hot meal, so – oh?’ he said when he saw me. He was about twelve and I couldn’t see anything wrong with him; he was glass-bright and tall. The same boy who helped Raphael at the ceremony in fact. Behind him, Maria was hunched in her coat, hugging a doll.
‘He’s come with Raphael,’ Inti explained. ‘Merrick, this is Aquila; Aquila, Merrick. They’re staying for dinner,’ she added.
‘Hello,’ Maria said tentatively to me.
‘Come and sit down, come and sit down,’ Inti told them, pleased to have more people. She opened the window next to us. ‘Ra-cha, probably better leave that to soak actually; will you make us some more coffee instead?’
‘Yes.’ He came back and narrowed his eyes at the goat when it bleated at him. ‘Christmas dinner,’ he said to it. ‘That’s what you are. No bloody turkeys round here.’
‘He speaks English when he’s unhappy,’ Inti explained. ‘Apparently it’s a good language for swearing. What’s he saying?’
‘He’s abusing the goat,’ I said.
She snorted. ‘It’s good for a person to be terrorised by a goat. Hard to get too high and mighty when there’s something chasing you for vegetables.’
I went to help him find cups.
‘Oh, sit down,’ Inti said, alarmed. ‘Aquila can help him.’
The boy was on the edge of getting up too. He looked as worried as his mother.
‘No, I need to keep moving anyway. Let’s see your hands,’ I added in English once Raphael and I were alone together in the little kitchen.
‘Why?’ he said.
‘Why? I wouldn’t be confident of burns not being infected in Kensington, never mind the land of flesh-eating yuck and insects so big they have to file plans with the Admiralty before they set out – come on.’
‘I’m not burned.’ He held his hands out anyway.
They were covered in small scars; tiny burns and old grazes, even faint lines where he had pulled string too tightly and cut himself. His knuckles were red, but he was right. There was nothing new. He met my eyes but not for long. He was starting to seem like a skittish thing when there was nothing pressing that required him to be frightening.
‘All right. Where’s her coffee?’
We found it and he ground the beans while I ran hot water into a jug. Everything had to be washed up first; Inti’s approach to dishes seemed to be the same as mine to slugs in that she’d slung salt at them and hoped for the best. Raphael cleaned as we went. I nudged him with my elbow towards the stove so I could scour the worktop. There was only salt to clean with and it made everything smell of the Navy. I caught myself smiling at the brush, pleased to be doing something that was easy and useful at the same time.
Inti’s boy came in to shake hands. He was very cold, because he had gone out without a coat, although like Raphael he showed no sign of feeling it. I wondered, because they looked very alike, and wondered again because, although he was plainly pleased with the novelty of a new guest, it was Raphael who Aquila wanted to see; he was flustered and happy to have him there, and embarrassed.
‘I was going to clean everything up this afternoon. If you can believe it’s got like that since yesterday, she just—’
‘It’s your house,’ Raphael said, and Aquila wilted. Raphael gave him a cup. ‘Coffee.’