Rat Song

Chapter 23

William could barely walk home from the forge, so shaken was he by his father's threats. Each time a cart passed them on their way through the marketplace, he tensed in anticipation of being thrust in front of the horses and their hard hooves. Father knew as well as he did how easy it would be for him to make it look like an accident.

Arriving home did little to ease his nerves. With Father watching his every movement and Emma locking herself in her room as soon as she finished her supper, William's muscles ached like guitar strings tightened to the point of snapping. Practicing the Hymn of the Whole with Burdock led to little more than misplayed notes and frayed nerves, leaving William to crawl into bed longing for an escape from everything that troubled him.

All the night provided him were nightmares of Father's hammer crushing his fingers against the anvil and a pounding headache. Sweat dampened his sheets as if it was summer rather than autumn, and weariness confined his limbs to the bed as forcefully as the children had pinned him to the earth.

Emma peered around his doorframe as the sun's rays pierced through the windows. She tiptoed into his room as silently as the rat inside her would have, coming to a stop just out of his reach. "Father says if you don't get up now you're not going to have breakfast today."

A heaviness filled William's stomach, pushing all thoughts of food far from his mind. "I'm not hungry."

Emma didn't say a word in response, simply left his room as quietly as she'd come. Somewhere in the muggy haze that clouded his thoughts, William longed for the days when she would bring him bouquets full of wildflowers whenever he wasn't well enough to play with her. Though he'd done everything he could to hide the way Father treated him, she'd always known when he'd needed a fistful of buttercups or poppies to make him smile, if only for a moment.

His parents came soon after Emma left his room. Father's bulky frame loomed in the doorway while Mother came to William's bedside. Her hand brought a momentary coolness to his forehead. "He feels warm."

Father grunted. "Probably just overdid himself in the forge yesterday. He'll be fine in a day or two."

"Should we have Dr. Hughes come take a look at him to be safe?" Mother's voice lowered to a hoarse whisper. "We almost lost Emma, Philip. I can't lose him, too."

Father's jaw tightened, his arm twitching.

"I don't need Dr. Hughes," William said. He gripped his sheets to keep his parents from noticing his trembling hands, forcing his lips into a smile for Mother's sake. "I'll be alright. I just need rest, is all."

"See?" Father wrapped an arm around Mother's shoulder. "No point fussing over him and worrying Dr. Hughes for nothing."

But Mother was not convinced. "Are you sure you'll be alright, sweetheart?"

He hadn't been alright for as long as he could remember, yet he still nodded.

"Best you stay at home for the next day or two, boy," Father said. "Wouldn't want you to overexert yourself, and I doubt you'll be much use in the forge if you're ill."

Mother bent down and pressed a kiss on his forehead. "Don't worry, sweetheart. I'll take good care of you."

"Don't worry about me." William fought to raise himself into a sitting position, only to collapse back onto the bed as exhaustion weighed down his limbs. "I'll be fine. There's no need to—"

"But I want to." Mother tugged at the sheets, gently tucking them around him. "I'll be by your side all day."

Father shook his head slowly. "Don't spoil him, Beatrice. If he's truly too ill to work, then the last thing he needs is for you to fuss over him when he should be resting."