Chapter One
Robin couldn’t feel her fingers. The barn was far too cold. In the height of winter, Robin Bernadette Docherty found herself amid the shivering chickens, shunting them aside with the heel of her thick boot to get at their eggs. The sun hadn’t even risen and her gloves had gone missing. She had wrapped herself up in a thick jacket and woollen cloak but she was still shivering and her nose still ran and she was still yawning widely, her eyes full of sleep-dust.
She dug through the alcoves of the hay filled bard that were less cold. She found their nests and hideouts easily enough. No chicken could hide her eggs from the keen eye and searching hands of Robin. She gently placed them in a little basket over her arm, careful not to crack the brittle shells. Robin loved her chickens. She and her twin brother and mama may not make the richest family in the mountains but they always had enough eggs and milk and meat.
Tagg would be out now, milking the cows and feeding the sheep. After finding all the good eggs she could, it was her turn to feed Blackbird, the only horse they had. He was old now and bony but Robin loved him all the same. She would get him some nice oats and give him a nice rub down. Humming a sweet tumbling lullaby, she rubbed her frozen hands together in an attempt to get some feeling into them.
***
Two men made their way slowly down to the farm, slipping slightly on the icy snow. One was quite tall, with long spidery legs and the other had long gorilla-like arms. The tall one was holding on to one end of a chain.
The other end was attached to a thick metal collar around a young woman’s neck. She couldn’t have been more than eighteen, but she stooped like an old woman. Her face was thin, bruised, her air greasy and unkempt. She was dressed in rags and her bare feet were turning blue in the snow. The men didn’t know her name, didn’t care either. The triangular fang shaped tattoo below her eye was enough for anyone who saw her
The tattoo pinned her down as a werewolf. She was a sub-species. She was a worthless slave. It didn’t matter who she was. To the men who owned her, she was no more than an animal.
***
Mama Docherty was peeling potatoes. But her mind was on other things. The letter lay on the counter, half read. She knew what it said anyway. All she needed to do was read the first sentence and the whole thing became so clear. The peelings curled over her fingers and she scraped the blade across.
Jason Fletcher and Tomas Hardcore
Fletcher and Sons Ltd
Land and Building Management
World Government
Dear Mrs. Docherty
Ashwood Farm
East County
We regret to inform you that the land the World Government has supplied you is now needed for further use. Your land will now be the site of a new World Government school, designed to educate the young community.
You and your family have a fortnight to move out. Myself and a representative will be coming to your place of residence to inform you of your options in three days time. If you have any problems, you can discuss it with then at that time.
Tutti i timore, morte e tristezza sono dietro voi.
Yours in the greatest respect
Tomas Hardcore
Land and Building Management
Her dear son passed by the window, carrying a swinging bucket of creamy white milk. He smiled up at her, his eyes bright and oblivious to the dreadful letter. She smiled back warmly, opening the window and leaning out, letting the potato shavings drop to the ground.
“Toerag!” she called out, her little pet name for him.
He made a face, but stopped, rolling his eyes.
“Yes, Mama?”
“You know what I’m about to tell you, don’t you?”
He bit his lips and thought a while. Then he nodded to his shoes, his thick blond hair hiding his face. “Don’t swing the bucket…” he muttered finally.
“And why don’t you swing the bucket?” his mother asked in a good-natured almost teacher-ish way.
“Cause the milk might spill…”
“You’re a good boy.”
Reaching over, she messed his hair and he went to bring the bucket in.
***
Pushing the frail werewolf aside roughly, Tomas Hardcore rapped in the door impatiently. Jason Fletcher rubbed his gloved hands together and blew into them, shivering slightly. He cast a smug look at the girl, who was trying and failing to stop her teeth from chattering and wrapping herself up tightly in her pathetic excuse for clothes.
The door opened quite soon, and they were greeted with a young girl, maybe about ten, eleven years old. She had thick golden hair and a cheerful face. She smiled up at them politely, waiting for an explanation.
“We’re here to see your mother, little girl…” announced Mr. Fletcher.
She frowned a little, her brow furrowing at being called a “little girl”.
“My name is Robin,” she told them rudely, before calling back into the house. “Mama, strangers to see you!”
Mr. Hardcore nudged his partner. “She sure told you, eh Fletch?”
He only scowled in return and kicked the lumps of snow on the ground angrily. The werewolf sighed inwardly with relief that he had not chosen to kick her instead.
Mama Docherty arrived shortly after and cast a despairing look at the men and their slave. She let them in, closing the door behind them. Leading them into the sitting room where Robin and Tagg were lounging on the floor, playing chess.
“Robin…” Mama said, biting her lip. “I need to talk to these men for a little while… why don’t you and Tagg go into the village.” The children got up, Tagg glancing at the idle chess pieces disappointedly. “You can finish the game later, take your pocket money down to the village, treat yourself to something…”
Robin smiled and skipped out of the sitting room, followed by a not so happy Tagg. When the children had left the room and they all heard the front door close behind them, Mama turned to her three unwelcome visitors.
“I understand why you are here,” she said briskly, just as the first man opened his mouth, “but the World Government supplied me with this piece of land and they told me it was mine for the next twenty years. I have only lived here for about fifteen, so it is still mine and I can tell you now that you are not going to use it to build anything!”
“Ah, but Mrs Docherty…” said Mr. Hardcore calmly, holding up a silencing finger, “the World Government is the one telling us we can take this land with or without your co-operation. So,” he continued over her protests, “you do not have the authority to tell us no.”
She was speechless, staring blankly at the two men as though stunned. She held out her hand. “Give me that,” she said, gesturing to the rolled up piece of paper in Mr. Fletchers hands. He nodded, handing it over and trying not to grin as she read the official government statement.
Harry Witcar
Head of Land and Building Management
World Government
The land previously belonging to Mrs Docherty and/or her family has now been passed on to Mr. Fletcher and Mr. Hardcore in order to build a re-education facility for underprivileged children. This has been the decision of myself alone and the rights to the land can be found in closed.
Tutti i timore, morte e tristezza sono dietro voi.
Yours sincerely
Harry Witcar
World Government.
She glared hatefully down at the letter and then searched the envelope for the rights. She found them and her eyes widened in horror. She instinctively held it up to the light streaming out of the windows.
“It isn’t a fake Mrs. Docherty,” said Mr. Fletcher, failing this time to keep the grin from his face. “I am sorry, but you have two days to pack and leave this land. Then we shall demolish anything that it left.”
Mama flinched as though he had thrown something at her. “But what about my animals, my crops and workers? What about my children…?”
“Your animals will have to be sold on, that’s your responsibility. Your workers have already been told and will be sold on as well to us in two days time. Your crops will be destroyed. As for your children…” he checked a form he had been holding in his hand, lifting a sheet and peering at the underside briefly. “They don’t go to school…?”
Mama drew herself up again to her full height. “No. I home0school them.”
“Well then, this is unacceptable.”
“What?”
Mr. Hardcore smiled at her in a fake, plastic kind of way. “It is now compulsory by law for children to go to school. It is illegal for you to home-teach them. They must receive a government-approved education…”
“I’ve heard of the sort of stuff you teach children at those schools!” she spat. “I won’t allow…”
“You have no choice!” he interrupted menacingly, “they can start tomorrow. It’s lucky we found out on time. Uniform and book will be sent to them free of charge in the morning and an escort will take them to the school. They may return in the holidays, but otherwise they will stay at school for the whole year.”
She opened her mouth to argue, but closed it again, realised how useless it would be. If she refused to co-operate, they might arrest her for some false charge and then what use would she be to her children then?
“Do you have any questions?” Mr. Fletcher asked in a tone that implied that he wasn’t going to answer any, at least not truthfully.
She shook her head miserably.
“Very well,” he said, clapping his hands once. “We shall take our leave then!” and with that, he left Mama Docherty alone in the house, silent tears already rolling down her face.
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