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”You will retrieve them at once!” Mrs. Turbeldy’s yelling was, for once, not directed at me. ”I can’t imagine what you thought taking those records would accomplish!” Her arms waved frantically around as she shouted, reminiscent of a chicken caught between a fence and a gate.
Quillen, the recipient of her anger, was a short, sarcastic boy with small blue eyes just a little too close together, a very large, bulbous nose, and a self-righteous air about him. He tended to assume he was somehow entitled to have special privileges from everybody, even though he was still just an orphan like the rest of us, albeit a more educated one.
I caught Quillen’s eye and smiled, and he responded with his signature ‘I’ll kill you later’ glare. Mrs. Turbeldy evidently thought it was anger at her, because she slapped him none too lightly across the face.
”Don’t get that look with me. You know right well where they are.” she told him sharply. “And you’d better turn up with them soon, or I might just tell your generous fop of a priest to send you off with charges of theft as well as destruction of property, cause I ain’t gonna take responsibility for your foolishness again!” Quillen sputtered and put a hand up to his cheek, which was still red. Well, redder than the rest of his face anyway; it usually was, when I was around. I once wondered aloud if his looking like a ripe tomato was genetic- I still had a couple of bruises on my shin from where he kicked it, but it was worth it. He couldn’t do much damage anyway.
I rather enjoyed the comical way his face swelled when he was angry— I had made it a kind of game to see how fast I could make him fly off the handle. So far, the record was a total of about 3 seconds, in which I didn’t really do anything except walk into the room. I suppose it might’ve had something to do with the fact that I had tied him to the bed in a very ridiculous position the night before.
”Don’t worry, Quillen,” I said agreeably. ”If he can put up with your incessant whining all day, this won’t phase him.” Mrs. Turbeldy frowned.
”This isn’t done, Sage!” Quillen growled. ”I am going to wipe that smug smile off your face and feed it to you!” I could only snort. ”That’s almost the same thing you said yesterday. And the day before. And the day before that.
“I’m rather fond of my smug smile. I wouldn’t let a clotpole like you change it.” I winked at Mrs. Turbeldy.
She barked something at me, probably about my being impertinent, but I had already slipped out of the room and down the stairs. I caught a glimpse of Quillen’s wide eyes when I looked back through the door. I decided I’d better make myself scarce for a bit. I had no desire to be put on dish duty that night because Mrs. Turbeldy thought I looked like I was up to something. As I crouched behind the decrepit porch of the orphanage, I heard the faint thud of Mrs Turbeldy throwing her favourite paperweight, as well as her bellowing, “Shoo! Don’t wanna see you back here again, you hear me?” A moment later Quillen’s stout, round form flew past, looking rather like a potato with legs as he ran toward the church and away from Mrs Turbeldy’s wrath.
He’d be back once she inevitably cooled off, and I figured he’d probably have a convincing apology ready by the time he turned up in her office. I stood up. I marveled at how he was still going, considering his stubby legs.
I followed Quillen from a distance, watching a few dozen meters away as he skidded to a halt, puffing, in front of the church steps. I didn’t know what he planned to tell the priest, and didn’t really care. However he tried to explain himself, it didn’t matter.
Quillen might have seen me walk past the church and into the town, but he didn’t follow me, for which I was grateful. I was too preoccupied to deal with his snide remarks at the moment, and my mind was on other things. It would be a while before I’d need to head back to the orphanage, so I took my time wandering the streets, nicking items from passersby every now and then.
By the time I arrived back at the church, Quillen was gone, probably to apologise to Mrs. Turbeldy with a chocolate or a new wooden spoon for her to wallop us with.
I clambered up the mossy stones to a small window ledge and situated myself out of sight, to the side of the window, and leaned over to peer through it. From here I could see the comings and goings of the people in the church as they sat, prayed, or occasionally made offerings. I studied one man for a while, and only when he finally left did I realise how late it was. I had missed chores, and probably dinner too. I wondered if someone would save anything for me. It was doubtful. The only time anybody saved food for someone else was either some sort of trick, or to ask a favor. The sky darkened as the sun slipped below the horizon, and I thought while I walked about how insufferable Quillen would be when I got back. He loved seeing me so frequently get in trouble. Well, I thought. He can go shove himself in a ditch. Now in view of the orphanage, I could see Mrs. Turbeldy talking and gesturing exasperatedly to someone. I couldn’t tell who it was from this distance, but Mrs. Turbeldy followed them inside a moment later, to my relief. I did wait a few minutes to be sure no one came outside, then eased open the front door and tiptoed down the hall and into the bedroom.
As quietly as possible, I stepped carefully between the beds and bedrolls until I came to mine. I couldn’t wait to fall asleep. I felt exhausted. But as much as I tried to sleep, the more it wouldn’t come. My mind wandered to the mysterious man in the church. I saw him there every month, sitting silently for most of the evening before finally getting up and leaving. I brushed those thoughts aside. It was pointless, thinking about him. Looking up through a crack in the ceiling, I could see stars twinkling in the midnight sky. I sighed tiredly and closed my eyes, and for the first time in months, I fell asleep to memories of my family.