Free The Seeker by Isobelle Carmody

at the stove trembled, then turned with surprising grace. The woman’s face was flushed from the heat and distorted by too many chins, but there was a definite resemblance between her and the girl. The thick ladle in her hand dripped brown gravy, unheeded.
    “Ariel!” she cried in dulcet tones. Her accent was similarto Enoch’s but less musical. “Dear hinny, I have nowt seen ye in an age. Ye have not deserted me, have ye, sweet boy?”
    She gathered him in a bone-crushing embrace and led him to one of the cupboards. She took out a sweet and gave it to him.
    “Why, Andra, thank you.” Ariel sounded pleased, and I wondered why the cook treated him with such favor. Surely he was only a Misfit, unless he was also an informer. Yet he seemed too arrogant for the latter. Most informers were clinging and contemptible, and even those who used them tended to dislike them.
    The girl with the knife giggled violently, and again the blade flashed its silver light. The older woman glared ferociously at her.
    “Ye born noddy-headed thing. Shut yer carrying on an’ get back to work.” The girl’s giggles ceased abruptly. Catching sight of me watching her, she scowled as if I were to blame.
    “Now, Andra,” Ariel said. “You recall how I promised you some extra help? Well, I have brought you a new worker.”
    Responding with enthusiasm, the cook launched herself at him with much lip-smacking. I thought with suppressed glee that it served him right. He caught the amusement on my face. Disentangling himself, he ordered the cook to make sure I worked hard, as I was assuredly lazy and insolent. Andra promised to work my fingers to the bone as he departed with a look of spiteful satisfaction.
    As soon as the door closed, her daughter leapt toward me, brandishing her knife. “Misfit pig. What sort of help will she be? Ye can see she don’t have a brain in her,” she sneered venomously, menacing me with the knife.
    The syrupy smile dropped from the cook’s face. She crossed the floor in two steps and dealt her daughter aresounding blow with the wooden spoon. “If she has no brains, then she’ll be a good match fer ye, fool that ye are, Lila. If Ariel gives us th’ gift of a fool, then ye mun show pleasure!” the cook snarled. “Oh, th’ trials of my life. Yer no-good father gives me a fool fer a daughter, then disappears. I have to come to th’ end of th’ Land so ye won’t be declared defective. I find a nice powerful boy to bond ye an’ yer so stupid I got to do th’ charmin’ fer ye. Lud knows ye’ve little enough to offer without gollerin’ an’ gigglin’ like a regular loon,” she added succinctly.
    With some amusement, I realized that the cook intended a match between her daughter and Ariel. It seemed he wasn’t a Misfit. But what sort of power could such a young boy possess?
    With a final look of disgust at her daughter, the cook turned to me. “As fer you, no doubt ye are a fool at that. An’ work ye hard I will, if that’s what Ariel wants. Ye’ve angered him somehow, an’ ye mun pay. He’ll see ye do. He ain’t one to let petty angers gan away. Ye’ll learn,” she prophesied.
    Turning to the sink, she explained that I was to wash the mountain of dishes and then scour the pots. I looked in dismay at the work ahead. In the orphan homes, there had been a great many of us, and a share in duties was always light. Yet there was nothing to do but obey.
    I had been working for hours and had just managed to finish the dishes when the cook announced that the easy work was over since it was nearly time for midmeal. I felt like weeping. Already I was exhausted, but as Lila and I set the tables, I channeled my despair into fueling a growing hatred of Ariel, whom I regarded as the initiator of my woes. I was hungry, having missed firstmeal, but I dared not complain as I carried bowl after bowl of stew to the tables. Lila moanedendlessly and received endless slaps for her pains. I judged it wiser to hold my