Darkwater Read Free Page A

to get enough. Maybe that was why Mrs. Hubbard enjoyed Emmeline so much.
    The girl stood up, licked her lips, and said carefully, “Edward the Third, Richard the Second, Henry the . . . Fifth, Henry . . .”
    Mrs. Hubbard jerked upright. She seemed overjoyed.
    â€œWhat? What did you say?”
    Emmeline froze.
    â€œRepeat it! After the infamous weakling Richard, who?”
    â€œHenry,” Emmeline whispered.
    â€œHis number!”
    â€œF . . . Fifth.”
    The whole class was already rigid, and seemed to stiffen even more, as if not showing any emotion was their only safety. Except for their eyes, which all moved in fascinated horror, toward the dim object that hung behind the door.
    Sarah sighed.
    â€œCome down here!” Mrs. Hubbard said.
    Emmeline looked as if she would faint. “Henry the Fourth,” she gasped. “It was him I meant.”
    â€œIndeed? I’m so glad to hear that, dearie. Don’t keep me waiting.”
    The girl came down. She was white, her hands clenched in front of her, her frizzy hair coming undone from the plait at the back. Her nose ran; she wiped it on her sleeve.
    Mrs. Hubbard turned majestically to Sarah. “Fetch it,” she commanded.
    Sarah frowned. She went slowly behind the desk to the dim corner. All eyes followed her.
    The cane leaned in its darkness. This was its place; a thin sliver of power, barely seen, but it dominated the whole room, all their lives, their sleep. Not always the same one, of course; Mrs. Hubbard wore out two or three a year. Now Sarah picked it up, seeing the ends of the bamboo were already split. It felt light and cruel, a swishing thing, ridged, the leather around the handle soiled with sweat, a hard grip. Every time she touched it she felt its attraction; she almost wanted to use it, to see how it would feel to wield that power.
    Mrs. Hubbard squeezed out of the pulpit, uncreasing and uncrackling like a great dark puffball of sweat and pomander oils, the black bun of her hair glossy and tight, stabbed with hairpins.
    Emmeline sobbed. Something broke in her; all the pent-up agony came tumbling out. “Please ma’am I’m sorry I’ll learn it honest I will but don’t give me the switch because me da he gives me enough and he’ll go mad he will . . .”
    Mrs. Hubbard smiled with pleasure. “An enlightened parent. I’m sure you will learn it; I fully intend to present you, dearie, with a few reminders of your current failure. However, as it’s such an important day, and I don’t wish to get too . . . flustered, I will not use the cane.” The class’s silence was a blank astonishment.
    Emmeline sniveled. “You won’t?” She sniffed, incredulous.
    Mrs. Hubbard took a large pinch of snuff. “No, I won’t.” She inhaled the brown powder into her huge left nostril, then her right, and smiled.
    â€œSarah will do it instead.”

three
    S omewhere outside, under the gray clouds, a gull began calling, a high, anxious mew.
    Sarah felt its fear close around her. “Me?” she said.
    â€œYou.” Mrs. Hubbard’s tiny black eyes watched her shrewdly. “I’ve watched you, dearie. You’re keen. You could have your own little place one day, just like this.” She glanced playfully at Emmeline. “Five will do. Hand out, and if you flinch you’ll have two extra.” Sarah frowned, watching the little girl’s palm rise up toward her, a small, trembling, fragile thing, pitifully dirty. Its openness beckoned her; part of her longed to crack down on it with the bamboo cane, to feel that quick swish end with the cry of pain. But the rest of her was annoyed. She didn’t particularly care about Emmeline, or any of them. Sometimes she felt sorry for them. But it would be folly to lose her job over this. Five quick smacks and it would all be over.
    Emmeline sobbed.
    â€œAre you