Peter Sparrow

  New York

  Whenever Peter felt like he was starting to get a grasp on life, something inevitably would come and turn his understanding on its head. He knew one life back in Dublin: a life of pain and hunger, of a beggar on the street. Now he lived the life of a servant, of hard labor driven by the crack of a cruel master’s whip. In the few months he’d spent in this new life, he was just beginning to understand it. What it meant, why it was important, how he should conduct himself. Then he opened the forbidden door, and met Rehoboam. Ever since then, Peter found he had to re-learn everything he had ever known.

  Rehoboam, as Peter suspected, was Solomon Peters’ son. Why his master had kept an adult man locked up in his bedroom like some shameful secret still eluded him. Peter pressed Rehoboam about it initially, but only got a half-answer.

  “He doesn’t like it,” he said. “You know, when I go out.”

  Rehoboam always spoke cryptically like that, as Peter quickly found out. He had spent the next three hours after finding him talking, trying to glean as much as he could about this man and his story. He didn’t learn anywhere close to what he wanted, due in part to the way Rehoboam spoke about everything. Sometimes he would speak so curtly, answering Peter’s questions with a few words at most. Other times, he rambled, off and on and off again. Through it all there was some apprehension, some deep anxiety that the man exuded, palpable enough that it rubbed off on Peter, causing him to fear something too, only he didn’t know what. It was all through the way he spoke, the way he carried himself. Rehoboam would sit on the bed, coiled up like a spring, like he needed to be ready to jump up and defend himself at a moment’s notice. His eyes would dart sometimes to different corners of the room, or of course, to the door. Peter assumed he just worried the master would come home at any minute—after all, Peter worried about that, too.

  Peter didn’t linger in that room forever. As much as he wanted to learn all about Rehoboam, he couldn’t risk the chance of Solomon returning and finding out what he’d done. It was far too risky—for all his curiosity, keeping himself safe was still Peter’s number one priority. He had no idea what Solomon would do to him if he discovered he’d snuck into the room, but he wasn’t about to find out. As he got ready to leave, though, Rehoboam offered Peter the strangest gift: a key, just like the one he used to unlock the door.

  “He thought he lost it,” Rehoboam explained. “Had a copy made. But I’ve had it. Haven’t had a use for it until now, though. Come back sometime, will you? I can teach you to read.”

  And so it was that Peter formed the strangest of friendships with this hermit of a man, forever confined to his bedroom. Solomon and Leif would leave at least once a week to deal with legal matters in the city, and Peter would use the opportunity to sneak back in and spend the day with Rehoboam. They would talk, off and on, but Peter soon learned that Rehoboam didn’t like talking all that much, or at the very least only liked it sometimes. The rest of the time Rehoboam much preferred to read. It was an exciting idea, reading. Rehoboam told Peter that his books were written by all sorts of different people from all over the world. To Peter, each of those books was a portal, then, a passageway to somewhere else.

  To his disappointment, Rehoboam didn’t have any stories about pirates, so they started with broadsides. s, news headlines, wanted posters. The subject matter wasn’t exciting, but reading was. They started simple with letters, then moved onto the sounds the letters made together.

  The strangest thing about Rehoboam was that he never asked Peter anything. Not anything about himself, or about Solomon, or about the world. Peter didn’t even know if he hated being locked up, or if he was fine with living his life confined to a bedroom. Sometimes he would try to ask about it—not directly, but in a roundabout way. He never got any good answers. Maybe he wasn’t meant to. After a while, Peter stopped asking, although he never stopped wondering.

  About a month after Peter’s fateful meeting, another surprise came. Peter was washing the dishes in the sink, and Leif burst into the house, sweat dripping from his brow.

  “They’re comin’,” he said, his voice shaking.

  “Who?” Solomon asked.

  “Lenape,” Leif panted.

  “So what, boy? It’s time to pay them, anyway.”

  “I don’t mean some Lenape. I mean the Lenape. Dozens of ‘em. I count four chiefs among their numbers, includin’ the King.”

  Solomon stood abruptly, knocking the chair he was sitting on backwards. It made a loud thud as it slammed onto the floor.

  “What?!” The old man’s face withered with worry, his eyes widening in fear. “Why would he come?”

  “I don’t know,” Leif said. “But something must’a changed. Something big. I don’t think they’re here for just food.”

  Solomon turned immediately, pacing to his bedroom in a hurry.

  “Warn the others,” he barked at Leif. “Take the stupid boy with you. Gather an offering for the King—whatever we have. And make yourself presentable, for God’s sake.”

  Leif nodded, and turned on his heel to leave again.

  “Come on,” he told Peter. “We’ve got to hurry.”

  The two boys ran down the hill as quick as they could, going door-to-door for each house in the free black frontier.

  “Lenape coming,” Leif would tell whoever opened the door. “King Tammany, too.”

  They never lingered at any door for long—they simply passed on the message, then rushed to the next house.

  “Who’s King Tammany?” Peter asked Leif as they went. “Is he really a King?”

  “He’s a chief,” Leif explained. “Well, he’s more than that—he’s like a chief among chiefs. That’s why we call him King. There are more chiefs with him, too, I think—he’d never come alone to something like this.”

  “But why now? What does he want?”

  “I don’t know. But if I had to guess, it’s about the tribute. Normally when we pay them, just a few of them come by—maybe one smaller chief, maybe none at all. If the King’s here, it probably means he wants more than we’ve been paying them. Maybe a lot more.”

  “Does that mean we won’t have enough for the winter?”

  “We already don’t have enough for the winter. It might mean we won’t have anything.”

  “But that’s not fair,” Peter complained. “Why would they even need more?”

  “It’s not just them.” The two boys stopped in front of a door, but Leif hesitated before knocking. His face creased in worry, his thoughts clouded by something.

  “What do you mean?” Peter asked.

  “It’s… it’s just complicated,” Leif explained. “It’s like this: we pay tribute to the Lenape. The Lenape pay tribute to the Iroquois. And so it goes. So if the Iroquois demand more, the Lenape need to pay more, which means we need to pay more. Everyone pays, everyone suffers.”

  “So you think the Iroquois are demanding more, too?”

  “Been hearing rumors in the city. They say there’s a war startin’, up in Iroquois country. Apparently the French have invaded ‘em.”

  “But what does that have to do with us?”

  Leif sighed. Peter could tell he was a little annoyed by Peter’s question.

  “It’s all connected, Petey,” he said. “What do you think happens in war?”

  “People die.”

  “Aye, people. But not just them—cows, pigs, chickens. Lemme ask you: if you were invadin’ your enemy, and you found a field of crops they’d laid, what would you do?”

  Peter thought for a moment.

  “I suppose I’d take the crops,” he said. “That way I could feed the other soldiers, and take it from my enemy.”

  “Aye. And what if you didn’t have the time to pull up all the crops?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What if you had to leave to pillage another town that night, and you didn’t have the time to get the crops up?”

  “I… I don’t know.”

  “You’d burn them,” Leif said. “You’d burn the crops, the animals, the houses, the fields. Everything you could until there’s nothing left. And I’ll bet that’s what the French have done. And everything’s connected—if you learn one thing, let it be that. So the French burn the fields, leaving the Iroquois with no crops. They demand some from the Lenape, and so they demand the same from us.”

  “It just doesn’t seem fair,” Peter said. “We don’t have anyone to demand crops from.”

  “It’s a food chain,” Leif shrugged. “And we’re at the very bottom.”

  With that, he knocked on the door. A woman opened it, and Leif repeated his message.

  “Lenape coming,” he said. “King Tammany, too.”

  And on the boys went, to each of the two dozen farmsteads or so in the community. After the last one, Leif turned and started sprinting home at a blinding speed. It was such a sudden movement that it took Peter completely by surprise, and he ran after him as best he could. But Peter was nowhere near as fast as Leif was, and by the time he got back to the house, Leif was nowhere to be found.

  “Hello?” Peter called out. “Leif? Where’d you go?”

  He crept around the back of the house, trying to find him. He looked in the barn—no one there. Where could he have gone?

  Suddenly, Peter heard a commotion from the woods beyond. He froze as he saw dozens of Indians emerge from the forest, straight into his backyard. Leading them all was a man Peter could only guess was King Tammany. He was dressed in a fine white robe, adorned with gold and silver and shells from the sea. Atop his head lay a crown of sorts, Peter supposed, though it was far different from what he pictured. It was a brown headband, with tufts of bright red fur poking out the front of it. But it wasn’t his regalia that made Peter think he was the king. It was the way he carried himself, the confidence and esteem of a ruler.

  As the Lenape approached, Peter just stood there, paralyzed. Nothing had prepared him for what to do. He looked around for Solomon or Leif, but he saw neither of them. All he could do was stand there like a statue as fear filled his little body.

  Strangest of all, the King himself led the entourage, and when they saw Peter, it was the King himself who approached him. No translator, no emissary, no steward—he spoke for himself, and each of his words carried a tremendous weight that Peter could feel in his chest.

  “Good day, boy,” the King said. “What’s your name?”

  “P–Peter,” he managed to squeak out. The King just smiled.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Peter. My name is Tamanend. I am looking for a man named Manuel Groot. I’ve heard he goes by the name Big Manuel.”

  “Big Manuel?” Peter stammered. “I… I don’t know him, I’m afraid. I work for Master Solomon Peters.”

  “I see. Would you lead me to your master? Perhaps he would know where to find him.”

  “Ah, hello!” Peter heard a voice call from behind, and whirled around to see his master walking towards the crowd, taking meandering steps with his cane. “Welcome to my home, your majesty!”

  The old man approached the King and held out his hand. The King smiled, and shook it.

  “Have we met?” The King asked him. “You look familiar.”

  “Oh, about some twenty years ago,” Solomon said. “I hardly remember it myself, you know how it is, when you get to my age.”

  Peter had never seen his master so cordial. It was a side of him he didn’t even know existed, and even watching it now he hardly believed it was there.

  “Well, forgive us for intruding upon your lands,” the King replied. “I am looking to discuss some matters with Manuel Groot.”

  “Of course, of course, he’s just down the way. I can fetch him for you. But come, you must be treated to our hospitality!”

  Solomon turned to Peter.

  “Why don’t you grab Leif,” he told him. “And you two come and make some tea for the King.”

  “I—I don’t know where Leif is, sir,” Peter replied.

  An angry vein bulged on Solomon’s forehead. Peter flinched reactively, but nothing came. Peter realized Solomon probably wouldn’t hit him in front of all of these people, and his nerves soothed a little.

  “Well, go find him,” Solomon said. “And be quick about it.”

  “Yes, Master.”

  Peter ran towards the barn as quick as he could. He looked inside, around on the ground floor. Nothing. He clambered up the ladder, looking around the loft. Nothing. Panic began to grow in Peter’s heart as he climbed back down. It wasn’t just that his master would be angry with him—he was starting to think that perhaps something had happened to Leif. Perhaps something bad.

  Peter exited the barn, and his eyes drifted to the forest beyond, where the Lenape came from. It was the only place he hadn’t looked. Yet, he paused. The trees were more foreboding than usual, casting long shadows upon the snow. Their leafless branches swayed in the cold wind, and looked like grasping hands in Peter’s eyes. But there was nowhere else to look, and despite his apprehension, it was like some strange force pulled him towards the woods. So he began to walk.

  The forest was eerily quiet this time of year, with most of the animals in hibernation. Blankets of snow coated the ground in white, and the wind whipping through chilled Peter’s bones. Nervous and afraid, Peter tried to calm himself, as he often did, by talking aloud.

  “It’s just like the last time,” he told himself. “You went and found the perfect stick, and nothing bad happened to you. This time you’ll find Leif, and nothing bad will happen to you. It’s just the same. It’s just the same.”

  The words were meant to reassure him, but as he thought about it he realized something else. That last time, there was a snapping twig in the woods, something else there. He ran away from it, but maybe it was still here. Still waiting for him, waiting for just the right moment…

  Another twig snapped in the distance behind him. He whirled around in fright. Someone was there, but it was too far to make out. Peter began to creep forward, using the trees as cover. As he got closer, he realized—it was Leif! He was just standing there, in the forest, like he was waiting for someone. He was dressed in his nicest outfit, the one he only wore for special occasions. It was pauper’s suit of brown tweed, but it was a suit nonetheless, and Peter couldn’t help but feel a little jealous that he had one. Peter only ever had two changes of work clothes, and they were always dirty.

  Nevertheless, seeing Leif caused a wave of relief to wash over Peter. Nothing bad happened to him after all. He started to call out to him, but the words caught in his throat. Someone else was there, too, approaching Leif from the other side. Peter hid behind the closest tree and watched. It was a girl, and not just any girl, either—a Lenape girl. She was the most beautiful girl Peter had ever seen. She wore two exquisite braids that neatly parted her hair in half, and her eyes were the color of coffee beans. And suddenly, it all made sense to Peter. Leif had rushed back and gotten ready—he must have washed himself in the well, and his hair was even slicked back with pomade. He wasn’t dressing up for the Lenape—he was dressing up for a Lenape. Her.

  Peter had no idea what to do now. He wasn’t about to disturb whatever was about to unfold between these two. At the same time, he couldn’t return to the house empty-handed. As long as Leif was gone, Peter needed to be gone, too. All he could do, then, was wait. He crept closer to the two, trying to hear what the girl was saying.

  “Hè, Leif,” she said. She spoke in a funny, circumambulatory way, unable to look him in the eye.

  “Hè, Miotoka,” Leif replied. “Kulamàlsi hàch?”

  Peter couldn’t believe his ears. Leif was speaking the Lenape’s language to this girl. It wasn’t perfect, of course—Leif stumbled through the words somewhat, his face harboring a reddish hue. But it was still incredible to Peter. He had never spoken of any of this—Peter wondered why he had kept it a secret all this time.

  This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

  “Ku Mayay,” the girl said. Her name must have been Miotoka, Peter thought. “Nshielìntàm.”

  “Nshiel…” Leif tried to process the word. The girl smiled somberly.

  “I am sad, Leif,” she told him.

  “Oh,” he said. His spirits seemed to sink, his shoulders drooping. “K–Kèku hach… Kèku hach kt?lsi?”

  Miotoka smiled again.

  “N?manunksikwithakamika,” she said. “Ok mèthìk lamunkwe.”

  “Fuck’s sake,” Leif said, exasperated. “You’ve gotta slow down for me, y’hear? I can’t go that fast.”

  Miotoka laughed. She had a wonderful laugh, like the sound of spring rain.

  “I am sorry,” she said. “You are getting better, though.”

  “You’re just saying that. I’m still awful at it.”

  “I am not lying. You are getting better. You just… you need more practice.”

  Leif raised his hands defensively before resting them on the back of his head.

  “Not my fault you don’t visit enough,” he said.

  “Not mine, either,” she sighed. “I will teach you a new word today: nkwilul?lip.”

  “And what does that mean?”

  “I have missed you.”

  “Yeah, well…” he began. His face grew an even darker red. Now it was he who couldn’t look her in the eye. “I wouldn’t need to learn how to say that anyway...”

  Miotoka just laughed again.

  “But seriously,” Leif said. “What’s wrong?”

  “I said I was angry,” she replied. “At the world, and its evils.”

  “Is this about all this nonsense? Why your father’s come?”

  Miotoka didn’t reply. She looked at the snow, ashamed.

  “It is not fair,” she said. “We will steal what you have grown, what is not ours.”

  “Aye,” Leif said. “And the Dutch stole your land when it wasn’t theirs. So the crops are mine, but the land I grew it on is yours. What does that mean, then?”

  “You try to justify it, but I still feel guilty. It is cruel.”

  “The world is cruel. Everybody just does what they can to make it. But hey—whatever happens, I won’t starve through the winter. I know you’re so incredibly worried about me.”

  Miotoka’s eyebrow twitched in anger. She kicked a glob of snow up at Leif.

  “Hey,” he yelled, wiping the snow off his nice suit. “That was uncalled for.”

  “You are stupid,” she told him.

  “Oh, don’t say that. You sound like me mum.”

  As he finished wiping himself off, he noticed that she really was troubled. His face grew somber, too, and he put a hand on her shoulder to reassure her.

  “We live in harsh times,” he said. “But they won’t stay harsh forever. Give me a few years, and you’ll see. I’ll be free of my indenture, free to do whatever I please. Free to ask you to marry me.”

  Now, it was Miotoka who blushed.

  “You are too forward,” she scolded him. “And besides, I cannot marry you. There is a saying among my people: Matàch ta awèn wicheo Sh?wanàkw.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means I should not marry a white man. It is seldom done, and considered strange.”

  “Oh yeah? Well, there’s a saying among my people, too.”

  “Oh? And what’s that?”

  “An rud is annamh is iontach. It means: the things that are strangest and most seldom are also the most wonderful.”

  “Hah. I do not believe you have a saying so apt.”

  “It’s true. I swear on me Da it’s true.”

  “Even if it is, my father would not approve.”

  “Oh, he’ll warm up to it. Isn’t that what his name means, anyway? Tamanend, the Affable. I’ve heard he’s nothing but pleasant.”

  “Pleasant until a boy tries to marry his daughter.”

  “Well, I don’t really care what your father thinks. I care what you think.”

  With that, he got down on one knee. He produced a small little box and held it out to her. From the distance, Peter could just barely make it out. It was a ring of all things, made from wrought iron.

  “I made it myself,” he said. “It’s not silver or gold or anythin’... but it’s not meant to be forever, either. Just as a promise, ‘till I can afford you somethin’ better.”

  Miotoka just stared at it, wide-eyed.

  “Miotoka,” Leif said. “ktaholi hèch?”

  “I never taught you that one,” she said in surprise.

  “No.” Leif just grinned. “No, I learned that one by meself.”

  Miotoka smiled. She took the ring from him, and put it on her finger.

  “E-e,” she said softly. “Ktahol?l, Leif.”

  Leif rose with a boundless energy, and scooped Miotoka off her feet. He swung her around, then sat her down, and planted a kiss on her lips. She returned it, holding his face in her hands. Peter’s face grew hot and red, and he covered his eyes so he wouldn’t see it. He grew guilty over watching any of it—he had not intended to be some strange voyeur in such a tender moment. But he had nothing else to do, and could never have expected this. Leif was in love—and with a Lenape princess, no less! It was the most exciting thing he’d discovered since he learned about Rehoboam.

  “I have to go,” Miotoka told Leif. “They will wonder where I am.”

  “Yeah, me too,” Leif said. “You go on ahead. I’ll show up some time after, so they won’t suspect anything. But you’ll come visit again, won’t you?”

  “Of course,” she said. “And I will keep this ring until then. It is your promise, remember?”

  “Aye. And I swear to keep it.”

  Miotoka gave him a peck on his cheek, then ran away off in the direction of the house. Leif watched her leave, and as soon as she was gone, he collapsed backwards onto the snow. Peter waited there still, for a few minutes, just so he wouldn’t expect anything. Then he broke his cover, running towards Leif.

  “Leif,” Peter called out. “There you are!”

  Leif leaped up, startled.

  “What’re you doin’ out here, Petey?” He asked. “What… what did you see?”

  “What do you mean?” Peter fibbed. “The Master sent me to find you, only you were nowhere to be found. I’ve been looking everywhere, and here you are on the

  “Yeah, sorry.” Leif said. “Let’s head back, huh?”

  “Are you alright? You look like you’ve been crying.”

  Leif wiped the tears from his eyes.

  “Aye, I’m fine,” he said happily. “I’m just fine, I am.”

  “If you say so. We should get back to the Master, then.”

  On they went, jogging through the woods back to the house. Leif had a spring in his step like Peter had never seen, and he felt happy for his friend, if not a little jealous, too. How in the world did he manage to get a Lenape princess to fall in love with him? Peter would have to ask him for tips later.

  Upon their return, they saw the crowd of Lenape again—only this time, they were getting ready to leave.

  “Are you going already?” Peter ran up to the King and asked him. He couldn’t help but notice Miotoka standing close behind him. Getting to see her close-up like this only confirmed it: she was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen.

  “Yes, I’m afraid we must,” Tamanend said.

  “But… but me and Leif haven’t gotten to make you tea,” he said. The King just laughed.

  “You are so hospitable, boy,” he said. He turned to Solomon. “You must be proud, having servants so amicable.”

  “Of course your Majesty,” Solomon said. “They are a blessing in my life, to be sure.”

  “And I wish you more blessings to come,” the King said. “Until our next visit, and I hope they will be of a more pleasant nature.”

  “Likewise,” Solomon said. He bowed, and the King nodded, then turned and began to leave. His congregation went with him, only they were no longer empty-handed—many of them carried bundles and loads of crops, and some of them led cattle and pigs away as they walked back into the forest.

  Peter, Leif, and Solomon all watched them go. Once they were gone, Solomon turned to the two boys, pointing an angry finger at them.

  “Where in the hell were you?!” He yelled. “Y

  “I’m sorry,” Peter stammered. “I really tried, Master… I… I just—”

  “It was my fault, Master,” Leif cut in. “I went into the woods—I heard there’s this flower they really like, see, and it grows even in the winter. I wanted to find it, give it to the King as a gift. But I got lost. If Peter hadn’t found me, I’d probably still be out there.”

  “You’re covering him,” Solomon scolded. “I can smell your lies a mile away.”

  “It’s the truth,” Leif stood firm. “I swear it.”

  “Hah. You swear by nothing. Your promises hold no weight.”

  Leif balled his hands into fists as he said it. Peter had never seen him angry at the Master before.

  “No matter,” Solomon said. “You’ll both learn your lesson this winter. The Lenape needed more food for the winter. I have given them yours.”

  “What?!” Peter asked.

  “Is there a problem? I told you to get all the crops up before the cold came. You didn’t. We didn’t have enough to give them, and they demanded even more. So now we’ve only got two batches left—one for me, and one to sell. You two can eat off my plate the next few months. Perhaps that will teach you some humility.”

  “But—that won’t be enough to feed the both of us,” Peter protested. “Can’t we have some that’s meant to sell? I’ll plant ten times that much once the spring comes. I promise.”

  “No,” Solomon said sternly. “That batch is too important for the likes of you.”

  Then, it dawned on Peter. That batch wasn’t to sell. It was enough crops to feed a single person for the winter, just as big as all of theirs. Before, Peter didn’t know who else would need food for the winter, but now he did. There was another person who lived in the house, who would need food too. And for some reason, this made Peter incredibly upset. More than that—it made him angry. Furious. For the past three weeks he had sat in wonder why in the world Solomon would keep his only child locked up in a bedroom. It was a horrible injustice, perhaps even greater than all the great cruelties he had made Peter suffer. Rehoboam was kind, but he hadn’t done any of the work around the house or the farm. And now the food that Peter and Leif had worked so hard to earn was going to him instead? And Solomon wouldn’t even tell him who it was going to? It boiled his blood.

  “You’re lying,” Peter said.

  “What?” Solomon asked. Peter could feel Leif tense up next to him. A part of him knew that he should just stop here, that it wasn't worth it. But he couldn't. Something inside him compelled him again, this time to action.

  “You’re a liar,” Peter told him, pointing a finger at his master. “You’re going to punish Leif just ‘cause you think he’s lying, but you’re lying too.”

  “Oh?” Solomon stepped forward. "Do enlighten me on the nature of my lie."

  “The food,” Peter said. “It’s… well, it’s not for selling."

  “It isn’t?”

  “No. It isn’t. It’s for your son.”

  It was like the wind stopped as soon as he said those words, like the air itself keeled over and died. Solomon’s eyes widened with a surprise Peter had never seen before. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Leif signing a cross over his chest, cursing under his breath. What he saw next was the back of Solomon’s hand colliding with his cheek.

  The blow was hard, and it knocked Peter onto the cold, hard ground. Peter saw stars, the wind leaving his body as it slammed onto the snow. In his blurred vision, Solomon readied another blow, but Leif ran to his aid, putting his hands out in front of Peter.

  “Wait,” Leif pleaded.

  “Out of my way, before you get it too,” Solomon bellowed.

  “Let me do it, Master.”

  “What?!” Solomon sounded just as surprised as Peter felt. He couldn’t believe his ears.

  “Let me punish him, Master,” Leif repeated. “You’ve exerted yourself enough dealing with the King, haven’t you? And I need to make it up to you, anyway. I got lost, and I couldn’t make tea for him. And more than that. I’ve tried to teach him to mind you. I failed, clearly. It’s my fault, and I’ll own it. So let me do it all.”

  Solomon stood for a moment.

  “You won’t go easy on him,” Solomon said. “You will beat him so soundly that he will never speak such nonsense to me again.”

  “Yes, Master,” Leif said. “What would you have me use?”

  A scowl formed on the old man’s face as he looked at Peter lying helplessly in the snow.

  “The bullwhip.”

  Peter’s heart sank into his stomach. It was the one tool Solomon had never used on him—Leif had told him it was reserved for the worst of punishments, and Leif himself had never seen it used.

  “Yes, Master.”

  “And show him to me once you’re done,” Solomon said. He turned with a dismissive wave, heading back into the house. “If his back is not raw, yours will be.”

  Leif nodded. He grabbed Peter by the arm, dragging him across the snow. Peter scrambled to try and stand, but Leif went quicker, and Peter could only flail in his grasp.

  “Leif, I’m sorry,” Peter began. Leif ignored him, and shoved him into the barn.

  “Do you have any idea what the fuck you’ve done?” He asked.

  “W—What?”

  “You just don’t listen to me, do you?” He continued. Peter had never seen him so angry. “I really thought we were friends.”

  “We are friends,” Peter said. “We’re the best of friends.”

  Leif shook his head.

  “Friends listen to each other, heed each other’s advice. I told you to stay the fuck away from that door. I said that if you valued your life, if you listened to just one thing I had to say, you’d stay away from it. But you didn’t. And worse, you betrayed me to do it. I was the one that vouched for you, you little shit. I convinced the Master to let you stay while we went out on the town, and you took my good will and burnt it to ash.”

  “I’m sorry,” Peter said. "I didn't mean it like that. You're my friend, Leif. My very good friend."

  “No, you’re not sorry,” Leif said sadly. “Not yet, at least.”

  He threw Peter against one of the empty stables. He took a rope, and bound Peter’s hands, tying them to the stablepost.

  “Please,” Peter said. “You don’t have to do this.”

  “Aye,” Leif said. “And you didn’t have to betray me. But you did it anyway, didn’t you? So here we are.”

  He walked over to where the bullwhip hung on the wall. He took it down, then cracked it once on the floor. Peter flinched at the noise. It was a horrible sound, worse than he could have possibly imagined. He

  “Please,” Peter whimpered. “Can’t you see that this isn’t right? He’s the Master’s son! He should be out here, with us!”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Leif said, slapping his forehead. “He’s not just the Master’s son. He’s not normal. He’s fucked in the head, man, like completely fucked. Don’t you think there’s a reason the Master keeps him tucked away in there? He doesn’t let him out because he hurts people. He’s a fuckin’ lunatic.”

  “W-What?” Peter asked. But he got no answer besides another crack of the whip. But this time, it was on him. Peter screamed as he felt the lash dig through his back. It was a pain unlike anything he had ever felt, despite all the many things he had suffered, all the pains he had come to know. This was something new, something worse than all of them. Tears streamed down his face and into his mouth, agape in horror.

  “Do you wanna know how I broke my arm?” Leif asked him. “Cause it damn sure wasn’t from roofin’. He did it, Petey. Went berserk on me, beat me half to death. Accused me of being a Knight Templar or some shit like that. D’you see now? D’you see why things are the way they are? Why you ought not to ask questions you don’t need the answers to? There’s a reason, for fuck’s sake. Despite all the madness in the world, all the things that don’t make sense, there’s still some reason to it. Do you understand that?”

  “Yes,” Peter pleaded. He hardly processed the words, his mind in shock from the pain. “Yes, I understand. I promise.”

  Leif just shook his head.

  “No,” he said. “You don’t. I thought you would by now, but you still don’t get it. I’m sorry about this. I really am. But this is the only way you’ll learn it now.”

  He reeled the whip back, and whipped Peter again. This lash was harder than the first, and Peter blacked out for a moment as it sliced his skin. Through the pain, Peter frantically tried to think of what to do, of how he would fix things after this was over. He was angry at Leif for whipping him, resentful. I’ll tell the master about his Princess, he thought. See how he likes getting whipped. That’ll show him. But every time he started to think of anything, the whip returned, the pain so strong and severe that it knocked any line of thought straight out of his brain.

  By the time it was over, there was no anger left in Peter, only despair. Leif fetched Solomon, who looked his back over. He must have decided it was satisfactory—Peter couldn’t make out a word they said to each other. And then, stranger even, he felt Leif lift him up, and take him over to the well. He knelt Peter down over a soft cushion—Peter realized it was the blanket from Leif’s bed. He laid it over the snow, even though it would ruin it, and laid Peter on top of it. Then, he drew pails of water from the well, and used it to clean Peter’s wounds. The water was frigid, just barely warm enough to not freeze, and Peter’s whole body shivered as it spread into his wounds. They stung, too, but the water soothed them, in a way. Peter just lay there, sobbing into the comfortable folds of the blanket as Leif poured the water, then began to bandage the boy’s back. Why was Leif doing this? Why would he whip him so viciously, scour his back to shreds, only to gently clean his wounds afterwards? As he thought about it, as he tried to ponder all the many contradictions he'd been faced with, Peter realized the most horrifying thing about this whole ordeal. Despite all he had seen, despite all he had suffered, he still didn’t understand a thing about the world.