Page 61 of Bridget & Gabe Are Not Okay

When Gwen opened up her arms, she felt too sad and small to do anything else but lay her head down in Gwen’s lap, and let Gwen rub small circles behind her ears, and breathe and breathe into it until, quite by accident, she fell asleep.

Twenty-Six

The school that they visited the next day was newly built, and quite nice, as schools went. Stone, not wood, with a big fireplace, actual tables for the children to sit at, and a threadbare rug on the floor by the hearth. It even had its own outhouse. The man running it was elderly and spry, and apparently had an endless supply of patience, because no matter how many times he had to ask the children to do something, his cheerful tone never faltered.

Gabriel had slept for approximately fifteen minutes the night before, and it was all he could do to keep his eyes open while he was given a short tour. The children, who had obviously been washed and combed first thing in the morning and had already ruined said efforts by climbing up chimneys and rolling in the mud or whatever it was children did these days, mostly seemed suspicious of the king’s visit.

And rightly so, thought Gabriel, still reeling from the angry crowd the night before. Who was he to come down from his lofty castle and tell people living hand to mouth what theirpriorities should be? Gabriel would hate himself too, if he were any of these people. Hedidhate himself today, and the lack of sleep was certainly not helping.

“This is where we keep the books,” the teacher said, showing them a small cabinet with three volumes, the pages already very bent. “We had more, but, ah… unfortunately, somebody seems to have taken them home to use as kindling.”

“We’ll have more sent,” said Gwen.

“This is Gilbert.” The teacher snagged a passing child like you might hook a fish, and presented him to Gabriel. “He’s the best at addition, aren’t you, Gilbert?”

“Hello, and I’m supposed to say ‘Your Majesty.’ And bow.” He wiped his nose with the back of his sleeve and did not bow.

“A pleasure to meet you, Gilbert,” said Gabriel, with the wariness of children he’d never been able to hide.

“Where’s your arm?” said Gilbert, in a light, conversational tone. The teacher immediately started making apologetic sounds.

“No, it’s all right. Um, they had to cut it off. It was crushed. By a very big horse.”

“Estrild’s got no hand, but she was born like that. Maybe your hands are together in heaven. And my uncle’s leg came off in a farming accident. Do you want to see the privy? My friend David did somethingsobad in there.”

“No, thank you,” Gabriel said weakly.

The boy shrugged. “Oh well.”

He sprinted away to join his friends. The teacher, for once, seemed at a loss for words.

They continued their tour, and then on their way out, Gilbert returned, dragging a small blond girl in tow. “This is Essy. Show him your hand, Es.”

Estrild pulled back her sleeve to show the place where herwrist ended, and then looked back at Gabriel, clearly expecting him to offer the same in return. He probably should have; it would have been nice and perhaps heartwarming, the two of them sharing this moment, bonding over what life had dealt them.

But he didn’t want to. He was tired and irritable, he’d been experiencing a hot, itchy tightness in his scar that had kept him up half the night while worrying had kept him up the other, and he didn’t know this child. He didn’t know any children. He made a point of it.

“Do you like… school?” he said instead, and Estrild let her sleeve fall back down and shrugged.

“I like reading,” she said. “I can do all of the books now. Someone took half of them, so I’ve read the last three ten times. One of them is boring but the other two are all right. I want a book about King Arthur, that was the best one that got stolen, and I want one about insects.”

“Insects?”

“Yes, because I collect insects, and I put them in a box until they die, which sometimes takes a long time, and after they’ve died, I line them up on my shelf. But I don’t know all the names. I just give them names, like people names, but I want to know the real ones. I know about lice and nits and earwigs. And worms, but I don’t want to keep worms, because they shrivel up and they look bad on the shelf.”

This speech, surprising as it was, was probably the most interesting conversation Gabriel had been party to in days.

“Did you know there’s a type of worm called a slow-worm? It isn’t actually a worm at all, it’s a lizard without legs.”

Estrild squinted up at him as if he were very stupid. “Well then, it can’t go on my shelf, can it? If it’s a lizard.”

“No, I suppose not. We have a butterfly specimen atCamelot from the other side of the world. It’s iridescent—shiny—and bright, bright blue, like topaz. Or. Er. The sky.”

“Can I have it?” Estrild said, straight down to business.

“Probably not,” said Gabriel. “But I can send you a new book, with insects in. It’s about herbal medicine too, but you can skip those bits if you’re not interested.”

“I’ll skip those bits,” Estrild agreed. Her eyes narrowed. “Will you send it tomorrow?”